Confessions of an Enamored Redheaded Witch
by hg-always
Summary: Ginny keeps running into her childhood crush--literally. She realizes she may be in love with him, and Harry Potter--the savior of the world she's never met before--just might be falling for her as well. H/G. Post DH. ALTERNATE UNIVERSE!
1. Of Murderous Thoughts and Unexpected Mee

**Story Author:** Molly

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, sadly.

**Author's Note:** All right. First off, to all **Bloodsucking Fiends** fans: do not panic! (And maybe, if I want to think of a little self-preservation: please don't murder me.) Just because I'm writing a new story doesn't mean that I'm abandoning the older one. But, unfortunately, there will be much fewer updates for **Bloodsucking Fiends** because I'll have to be writing this story at the same time. But I will finish both stories! To those of you who have been with me since the beginning, you know I like to start something before I finish another (cough **Harry Potter Meets Ginny Weasley—Again?** cough). And I think this Fic will be much shorter than my other two.

**Another Note:** To make the plot work, this Fic is SUPER AU. Harry has never officially met any of the Weasleys (except for George because he frequently buys Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes), but they still went to Hogwarts together. Harry just shared a dormitory with different boys. Everything Harry did in the books happened, only without the Weasleys. (He killed the Basilisk in the Chamber, but neither Ron nor Ginny were there.) Yes, it is very mind-boggling, but whatever.

* * *

1. Of Murderous Thoughts and Unexpected Meetings

Bloody mother of God.

I want to murder someone. Not literally, though, because that's too Moldywarts-like. But still. Anyone would want to do something completely evil after having a run-in with Draco Malfoy like I just did. It's bad enough that George picked _me_ to (unwillingly) test his new love potion spray, but then to run into_ Malfoy _still_ wearing it_!

The universe hates me. If you don't believe me, here's my conversation with Malfoy after unexpectedly running into him outside Madame Malkin's:

Malfoy: Whoa! It's little Weasel.

Me: Bugger off, Malfoy.

Malfoy: Or what?

Me: Or I'll make your face a permanent home for the little bat-bogeys.

Malfoy: Cool it, Gin. I'll leave you alone if you kiss me.

Me: I'd rather kiss a cross of an Acromantula and a Flobberworm than kiss you. And don't call me Gin.

Malfoy: Come on. Just a little bitty—

Me: Get your filthy hands away from me.

Malfoy: Or you'll do what, exactly—Aargh! Bloody hell—

Madame Malkin (just walking out her door): Draco Malfoy, you watch your tongue!

Me: Heeheehaha!

Argh. In murdering "someone", I actually mean Malfoy.

Mega Argh. I turn away from Malfoy, who's lying on the ground in agony, arousing curious stares from passers-by, and run straight into Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the World and all that.

So, firstly, because I was suffering from extreme anger following my encounter with Malfoy, I was walking extremely fast when I turned into the Chosen One. Secondly, the Chosen One himself is seriously…hard. From afar, he looks tall and lean. From his feet, he looks _extremely _tall and muscular.

You may be wondering how I know this—what he looks like from his feet, I mean. The answer is that I am lying next to his feet, staring up at his wonderfully handsome face. Not that I find him attractive, or anything. I mean, yes, he is _very_ handsome (and the snowflakes in his hair are a bonus!), but that doesn't mean that _I'm_ attracted to him. Seriously, I'm not. Anyway, I'm lying at his feet because I knocked into him very hard and fell.

Which just goes to show how much the universe hates me. Exactly. Because now that loveable (not that _I_ love him!), raven-haired, green-eyed, beautiful nineteen-year-old is staring at me with a look of worry splashed across his face. I highly doubt it is a look of worry like "Oh, Merlin, this lovely girl just fell to her death" but more like a look of worry of "Oh, this is bloody great—a mental witch with crazy red hair has just knocked into me and now I probably have to help her up to keep up appearances." Not that Harry Savior Potter would ever be nice just to keep up appearances, but I'm sure he'd rather have nothing to do with me. And I'm sure my hair is looking rather horrid after my tussle with Malfoy. And I bet I look like a bloody idiot because I keep blowing strands of hair out of my face.

So then Harry Potter reaches his hand down towards me and says, "Sorry about that. Are you all right?"

Instead of answering, I stare off into space. This is because (a) another wad of hair has managed to enter my open mouth and I have to blow it away; (b) Malfoy is muttering curses not far from me and I'm wishing I had my camera so I could snap a photograph of him; and (c) Harry Potter's voice is much softer and more musical than I'd ever imagined.

Merlin, can he get _any_ more perfect?

"Are you all right?" He's still holding out his hand, but I get up with out his help. I'll spare him the pain of having anything to do with me.

"I'm fine." I have to look up a bit to look him in his emerald eyes.

"You're a Weasley, aren't you?" he asks, smiling a bit.

"How do you know that?" Oh my God! How does he _know_ that? This is just my luck. The Boy Who Lived has been stalking me! I _knew _I felt someone watching me that day at the Burrow when I threw Crookshanks into the attic with the ghoul. I _knew_ it—

"Your hair pretty much gave it away."

Oh.

Well, that just goes to show that my hair caught his attention. And not in a good way. Not that I care, anyway, but it's still better to not have complete strangers thinking you're mental.

I brush snow off of my robes and say, "I'd better get going."

Harry Potter just nods and smiles. Gosh, he has a nice smile. And eyes. Why are they twinkling, anyway? He's probably planning on telling all his friends about the mental girl who knocked into him in Diagon Alley.

I turn away and push my way through the street; it has been much more crowded since said Savior of the World finished off Voldemort over a year ago. I reach the door of Flourish and Blotts and before entering, I look back towards Harry Potter—and find him _looking back at me_. He smiles and waves and I duck my head.

Bloody fantastic. Now he probably thinks I like him or something. I can just see the headlines now: Mental Redhead Desperately In Love With World's Savior.

O, well. It's not like worse things haven't happened to me. My encounter with Malfoy is proof of that.

"Ginny!" Oh, sodding hell. It's Hermione. I should have known she would be at the bookshop. She's probably planning on getting books for everyone for Christmas.

"Hermione." I don't even pretend to be enthusiastic. Ever since she came home from her honeymoon with my _brother_, she can't seem to stop smiling and she expects everyone else to be happy. I don't even understand how _she_ can be happy when she's going to have to spend the rest of her life with Ron. Honestly.

"What's wrong?" She's back to her regular, serious tone.

"Oh, nothing. Just had a little run-in with Malfoy." Not to mention the Chosen One, who is probably laughing is handsome bloody head off at me right now. If he even remembers me. Which I'm sure he doesn't.

Hermione's eyes narrow at the mention of Malfoy. "What happened?"

"Nothing, Hermione. Except he's clutching his privates in pain at this very moment."

Hermione doesn't say anything, but I can see the sides of her mouth twitching. "Well, I'll leave you to your book-shopping."

Translation: "I'll be throwing deathly uninteresting books your way every five minutes and convince you to buy them."

Which is why I get out of there.

Now I think I'll go to the Quidditch shop. I need more—

Hang on. Harry Potter will probably be at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Apart from defeating the most dangerous wizard of our time, he's the best bloody Seeker in the world. There are always photographs of him at the Quidditch shop in the _Prophet_, always looking dashing without even trying. I'm definitely not going to put myself in his path again. He's forgotten me, and that's how I like it.

I'll go to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. I need to punish George for spraying me with his sodding love potion. And maybe I'll buy a few Extendable Ears. They're useful for spying on Order meetings.

"Hey, Ginny!"

Bloody hell. It's Malfoy again. Maybe I didn't hit him hard enough.

"You better stay away if you know what's good for you!" I shout.

I've reached the door of George's shop by now, so I pull it open and look around for something useful I can throw at Malfoy.

"Ginny!" Malfoy calls out. "Two beautiful purebloods like you and I deserve to be together!"

I'm going to murder him. I'll murder him and then bring him back again so I can practice my Bat-Bogey Hex on him.

"I'll murder you and then bring you back again so I can have someone to practice my Bat-Bogey on!"

Feeling smug, I back into the shop. Only something's in my way. Something that's hard, tall and… smells nice.

Merlin's beard.

"That's quite a threat, Ms. Weasley." Goodness. It's so nice to just listen to him speak. "I may have to take you in to the Auror office."

Right. He's training to be an Auror.

"No," I say casually, turning to face him. He's looking down at me with his beautiful, emerald eyes. "I was just speaking to Draco Malfoy."

"Ah." Heeheehaha! I know Harry Potter and Malfoy never got along at Hogwarts, so I bet Malfoy must have been really dumbfounded when Harry kicked Moldywarts to the bucket.

"What's so funny?" Harry Potter asks me.

Great. Now he thinks I'm a nutter, along with having absolutely horrible, flaming red hair.

"Nothing," I answer smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to murder my brother."

He smiles again and raises an eyebrow.

Gosh, he has good eyebrows. Not that I care, but a girl can _notice_, can't she? Exactly.

I push past the Boy Who Lived and head straight for George, who is staring at me suspiciously.

"What?" I ask.

"Would you care to tell me why Harry Potter came in here asking about you?" he says.

Dobby's socks! Harry Potter was in here asking about _me_? Omigod—

"Ginny?" George's looking at me like I'm mental, and I realize I've just said that last thought out loud. In a shrieking, girly voice.

"I mean…why would _Harry Potter_ ask about _me_?"

"How the hell should I know?" George exclaims.

"So," I say casually, "what did he…ask?"

"Your name."

"Why?"

"He had it in his head that you beat the living daylights out of Draco Malfoy."

Oh. I didn't know he had seen that.

So he wanted a name to go with his story of the mad redhead in Diagon Alley. Fantastic.

"Great," I say jokingly," now he knows who to send flowers to."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny," George says, shooting a deathly stare at a customer.

How dare he! I know I'm not beautiful and fantastic and everything, but does he have to throw it in my face? Just wait—

"I didn't tell him your name."

Oh.

"Do you really think," George continues, "that I'd hand out your name to any bloke that asks for it? I'd rather my little sister stay single, thank you."

Bloody sodding hell. George's in a bucket of trouble.

"How many times have I told you that I don't need your bloody protection when it comes to the male species?" I scream, pulling out my wand.

"Wait a minute, are you telling me that you _want_ Harry Potter to know you?"

"No!" I say quickly. "Don't change the sub—"

"I thought you'd gotten over your 'silly little crush,'" he says, smirking his bloody head off.

Argh! Have I mentioned that the universe hates me? Well, it does. Because now all the customers are staring at me curiously and George has a malicious look in his eyes.

"Is little Ginny in love with Harry Potter?" George asks innocently.

I scream in fury and storm out of the shop.

Or at least I try to.

Because, in my anger, I fail to notice the figure approaching the door from the outside and I push the door with all my might.

This is unlucky because it connects with Harry Potter's face—hard. The next thing I know, he's lying in the snow and his nose is bleeding.

Oh, Merlin. The Boy Who Lived is now the Boy Who No Longer Lives Because He Stepped Into the Path of a Psychopathic Red-haired Witch With a Door.

I've killed the Savior of the World!

Oh, no. And he was so handsome and nice and a complete gentleman.

Gosh. I just imagine throwing myself on top of him and confessing my undying love for him.

I've killed the love of my life—

Hang on.

Oh. He's not really dead. I know because his head just popped up from the ground and he muttered, "Holy hell."

Fantastic. Not that I want him to be dead, or anything. But still. My life is over.

And I don't really love him. I just thought those things before because he was dying and he needed _someone_ to love him.

But _I_ don't. Honestly.

* * *

**AN:** Questions, comments—they are always appreciated.


	2. Of Loos and More Bloody Noses

**Author: **Molly

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, sadly.

**AN:** The excitement of writing a new story has me updating more frequently, I suppose. Don't forget to review!

* * *

2. Of Loos and More Bloody Noses

My life is over.

I am in no way being melodramatic because photographers have suddenly popped out of nowhere and are blasting away with their cameras. This means that by tomorrow my face will be splashed across the _Daily Prophet. _Most witches would consider this the best thing that could ever happen to them: they'd be in the paper, their face next to Harry Potter's.

Not me.

I'd rather the world not see me knock the Chosen One to his death, or at least to the death of his outrageously handsome nose.

And besides, my hair is looking rather horrid.

"Are you all right?" I reach down towards Harry Potter, who is partly submerged in the deep snow.

"No," he groans, taking my hand.

Of course he's not all right. I just mauled him with a door.

"Merlin, Ginny." It's George. He's pushed through the crowd that's gathered around Harry Potter and me. "Is this really," he whispers into my ear, "the way to treat loved ones?"

Which is why I elbow him in the ribs.

"I suppose it is," he groans. "Come on, Harry. Let's get you inside."

I think I'm going to die. George's just closed the shop, and now I'm alone in here with him and Harry Potter, who is clutching his bleeding nose with one hand.

I pull out my wand and Harry Potter jumps back.

"What?" I question. "I'm not going to murder you, you know."

"Maybe death is better than being around you for too long," Harry Potter says.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, stepping in closer.

"Uh-oh," George mutters. "I think I'd rather stay out of this little lover's quarrel."

Bloody sodding hell.

"I'm going to Bat-Bogey you to next week!" I shout at him.

He disappears into the back room before I can curse him, and I turn back to the Boy Who Lived.

"Like I said," he continues, smiling, "death is probably a better option."

"Fine," I say. "If you must know, I was going to perform a spell to stop your nose from bleeding, but now I rather think you deserve it."

Harry Potter smirks and takes out his own wand. Before I know it, his nose is back to normal and there's no sign of blood anywhere.

Argh. He's such a bloody show off, probably always performing nonverbal spells.

George comes out of the back room carrying boxes of Nosebleed Nougats.

"Brother," I say, "I need more Extendable Ears."

"Hmm…. Why, exactly?"

"For spying on Order meetings, of course," I answer.

Harry Potter raises an eyebrow in question.

"The Order of the Phoenix," I tell him. "You've probably never been asked to join because there's really no one to battle against now, is there?"

"Actually, I--"

"As for me, my mum won't allow me to join, which is really stupid since they don't really do anything expect discuss the latest breakout from Azkaban." I turn back to George. "The Extendable Ears, please?"

"Sorry, Ginny," he answers, smiling innocently. "I can't allow my sister to endanger herself by spying on secret meetings."

Argh! He is so difficult!

"Why are you so impossible?" I shout.

"Because I'm George, and now that Fred's gone I have to make enough trouble for the both of us, don't I?"

Fred.

I haven't thought about him in a while. Actually, I try not to. Whenever I think of him I can't seem to hold myself together. Normally this isn't a huge deal, since I'm usually at home and I can run off to my room and cry there.

But right now I'm standing next to Harry Potter, and he's looking at me weirdly because I'm trying to blink away my tears.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

Instead of answering, I run out of the shop.

God. He probably thinks I'm a nutter, now.

A seriously disoriented nutter.

With mad, flaming red hair.

Fantastic.

* * *

"Mo_ther_."

"Absolutely not."

God. Just because I'm only eighteen shouldn't mean that I can't at _least_ go to the Order's Christmas party. I'm already of age, anyway. Besides, Ron and Hermione get to go.

"Ron and Hermione get to go."

"I _know_, Ginevra," Mum says, flicking her wand at the potatoes with extra force. I can tell she's exasperated because that's the only time she uses my real name. "You've told me a million times. Your brother has already moved out of the house, so I can't stop him from joining the Order. _You_, on the other hand…"

Yes, me, the only child she has still living at home. She should be grateful, or I might just find my own flat one of these days. Not that I have any money, seeing as the Harpies aren't holding try-outs for another few months.

But still.

"It's only a _party_, Mum," I say, refusing to give up. I'd rather be invited than have to crouch on the ground, listening to their conversations with Extendable Ears. "A party to celebrate the birth of _Jesus Christ_. Do you _really_ think they're going to be speaking about taking out a non-existent Dark Lord?"

Mum hesitates for a bit, and I think she'll finally let me go, but then she says, "We'll be having our own party in a few days, so you can wait until then. I want you to have nothing to do with the Order, so you're not going, and that's final."

Oh, well. I guess the Extendable Ears will have to do.

"Did you see the _Prophet_ this morning?" Mum suddenly asks.

Blast.

"Hmm?"

"The newspaper, Ginny. Has it come in yet?"

"Um, no." Technically, that's not a lie because I took the paper from the delivery owl without it entering the house. After seeing my face on the front page, I immediately destroyed it.

So, no. The paper hasn't come _in_ yet.

* * *

God, this party is extremely boring. The usual Christmas songs are being played over the Wireless, people are chattering about non-important things and I can hear startled reactions to some of George's newer inventions.

In all, it's exactly what a party should be.

Which sucks, because I only really wanted to come to get the scoop on the latest news. It would have been fun if I had been invited so that I could play Exploding Snap with Ron and George, but I can't let anyone see me.

This is because no one has any idea I sneaked here, into number 12 Grimmauld Place. Actually, if I do say so myself, my stealth was rather magnificent. Let's just say the operation included a Disillusionment Charm and a load of chickens on wheels.

Anyway, now I'm stuck outside the party room, leaning against the door with my Extendable Ear pushed under it. Normally I wouldn't have to press my ear to the door to hear anything through the Ears, but seeing as they are extremely old and dying out, tonight is an exception.

Not that it's helping, leaning against the door. Merlin, this party is boring, any--

What's that?

Oh, nothing. Just someone new coming in through the door on the other side.

Was that Ron--_squealing?_

I'm making a special place for that memory.

Everyone's really charged up now, I can tell.

God, you'd think the Queen just walked into the room, or something.

What is going on in there? I pull the earpiece out of my ear and smash it on the ground and then bring it back to my ear.

"…so the boy doesn't have to stand all this staring," Mum is saying. "Go on, Ron."

Ron apparently does something really idiotic because Hermione says, "Don't be such an idiot, Ron. He's a normal person like the rest of us."

Who are they talking about--

"If you'll excuse me," a new, horribly familiar voice begins, "I need to go to the restroom."

Holy smokes, this can't be happening.

The universe can't possibly hate me two days in a row. It's unreal. It's completely evil.

_Why_ does this always happen to me?

Argh. Harry Potter just slammed the door on my face. And now I'm sprawled on the floor, my nose bleeding and possibly broken.

"Sorry, sorry!" Harry Potter cries frantically, offering me a hand.

"I guess that was payback," I groan, getting up. Harry Potter smiles at that.

"I wasn't really thinking of it in that way, but are you all right?" he says.

"I'm fine," I say. "Just a bit woozy."

Then Harry Potter stares into my eyes and I duck my head. I mean, I have blood running out of my nose, for Merlin's sake. And who could stare at his extremely handsome face without being intimidated?

Harry Potter clears his throat to make the awkward silence disappear. "Here," he says, taking out his wand. "I'd better clean up your face a bit."

"Thanks," I whisper after he performs his silent spell and my face is back to normal.

There's more silence, followed by me staring at my feet like a bloody idiot, so I say, "Would you like me to help you find the loo?"

"What?" he says, taken by surprise.

"You know," I say. God, how much more mad can I sound? He's probably adding "random loo-finder" to the list of my many faults. "I heard you telling my mum you were going to the loo."

Honestly. How many people can say they've had a conversation with Harry Potter pertaining to loos? _After_ mauling said Chosen One with a door and being mauled back?

Exactly.

"Oh," he says. "I already know where it is."

Huh. How could he possibly--

"Are you telling me you're part of the Order?" I question, leaning towards him with a malicious look on my face.

"Well, yes, but--"

"So yesterday," I interrupt, "when I was making a fool off myself by saying that I wasn't allowed to join, you were already part of the _sodding_ Order?"

"Yes, but--"

"How is it that _you_ get to be part of it and _I _can't?" I whine.

"Well," he says, smiling his exquisitely handsome smile, "I _did_ defeat the most powerful Dark wizard of our time."

I scowl. "Right."

God, he is so great. I wonder what he's thinking of me? I'm sure it's something hilarious that he's saving in his memory to recount his equally beautiful friends. Not that _anyone_ could ever match his beauty.

"You'd better get to the loo, or you might explode."

Oh. My. God. Did I just seriously say that out loud? To _Harry Potter_?

Apparently I did, because Harry Potter himself snorts and has to bottle his laughter inside. He's probably afraid I'll Bat-Bogey him, after what I said to Malfoy and George.

"All right, then," he says, heading out of my secret hiding room.

"Hey!" I call, unable to think of what else to call him by. I couldn't really say "Hey, Savior Boy," now could I? When he turns back to me, I say, "Well, thanks. For healing my nose, I mean. And, um, don't get lost."

He smiles. He does that a lot. I suppose that's what happens when you vanquish the evilest wizard on the planet. "You're welcome," he says. "And you can call me 'Harry', by the way."

Oh.

"Oh, all right. Harry." Harry. I _like_ that. "You can call me Ginny."

"Well, Ginny" he continues, "you can rest assured to I won't get lost, seeing as this is my house."

Oh. Fantastic. I've been using this place like a second home for a while, and apparently Harry Potter--or, just Harry--has been using it to tell stories of the mad redheaded witch to all his friends. Beautiful friends who are _girls_, I bet.

Merlin. Life is currently not looking up.

Except for the fact that I _am_ standing in the same room as the nicest, handsomest, most magically-powerful bloke in the world.

Even if he doesn't see me in the same way. Not that _I _see him in a special way, or anything.

But still. He's still the aforementioned things.

So I guess the universe doesn't _completely _hate me. That in itself is an improvement.

"Oh," I say nervously. "Er... why haven't I ever seen you here before?"

"This place holds some...bad memories," he says, looking around the room. "And I usually don't come to the Order meetings."

"Why did you come tonight?"

"Well, you know. It's almost Christmas and--"

He stops speaking and looks at his feet, his hands placed firmly in his pant pockets.

"And what?" I ask. Is he _nervous_?

"Well," he finally says, "there was someone who I was hoping I'd find here."

God, like that wasn't vague at all. Now I know why he's nervous: he likes someone who is probably going to be here tonight. She's probably beautiful and great and everything.

Fantastic.

"Well, go find her," I say, then add, "or, him. Whatever."

Why is here staring at me with that look on his face?

"All right," he says after a little silence.

After he leaves the room, I shove one end of an Extendable Ear under the door to the party room. Maybe I'll hear the love of Harry Potter's life come in.

Maybe she'll trip, or someone will slam a door on _her _face. Nothing like a little nose-slamming to disfigure an otherwise perfect face.

Not that I_ want _her to get hurt. Not really.

Or, maybe a bit.

All right, I want her to be turned into a jellyfish! Is that so bad? I mean, why can't _I _have a chance with Harry?

So, he doesn't like me back.

But still. Unrequited love can work, can't it? As long as a Miss Barbie doesn't ruin the picture.

Argh, what am I talking about? I don't love Harry Potter.

Do I?


	3. When Christmas Plans Go Awry

**Author: **Molly

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it, sadly.

**AN:** I feel like I should be apologizing to all my **Bloodsucking Fiends** fans for updating this story instead of it. But, in all honesty, writing a battle scene is extremely hard. It will take me a while. In the meantime, I'll be writing this battle-scene-not-necessary story, which I'm really excited about. (Anything pertaining to Harry Potter is exciting, actually.)

* * *

3. When Christmas Plans Go Awry

This may sound a little surprising, coming from me, but life is actually looking up.

Honestly.

There are a few reasons for this once-in-a-lifetime miracle.

Firstly, today is Christmas. This means presents, Quidditch, and possibly a bottle of Firewhiskey. Furthermore, one of said gifts could possibly be an animal (preferably a cat), seeing as how Arnold died a few months ago. And also, I overheard my parents discussing it using my Extendable Ears, and every now and then they drop hints of the exciting thing happening today.

Secondly, I just got Mum to make Ron instead of me get rid of the garden gnomes using some very advanced form of trickery, which I am quite good at.

Thirdly, Charlie just offered to take me to Romania with him for a few weeks. It's his Christmas gift to me, but he wanted to tell me personally on account of how he doesn't want Mum to chew his head off.

Fourthly, my hair is looking quite tame today. I think the universe has finally decided to give me a break. It would almost be worth seeing Harry Potter to show him that my hair isn't _always_ looking like a bomb explosion.

Almost.

Which leads me to my fifth point: I haven't been near said Boy Who Lived for an entire _three days_. Not since my infamous encounter with him at Grimmauld Place, when I spoke to him of loos. But I have no interest in seeing him anymore. You see, I had _deluded_ myself into thinking that I was in love with him, seeing as I had had a teensy weensy little crush on him when I was younger, and then we just suddenly kept bumping into each other, as if by fate.

But now I'm completely Harry-Potter-free. Honestly. I've only had _seventeen_ daydreams about him in the last twenty-four hours. This is a big improvement from the 104 that had accumulated since I first bumped into him in Diagon Alley.

But I'm sure he's waking up to a wonderful Christmas Day with his beautiful girlfriend next to him. I bet they're having loads of fun. Even though, I must admit, I'm sure my daydreams are far more romantic than anything they're doing. He doesn't serenade _her_ from a sandy beach in the moonlight, does he?

"Ginny!"

It's Dean, my ex-boyfriend. What is he doing here? There's a tall black girl dressed in Muggle clothing standing beside him and Ron is on his other side, his robes stained with dirt from de-gnoming the garden, his eyes narrowed in a "I'm thinking of a plan to get you back for making me de-gnome the garden" look.

"Hey," I say, coming down the steps to the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

"My mum and the rest of the family are staying with my aunt in Surrey for the week, and I thought I'd show my step-sister Amanda the Wizarding world," Dean explains, nodding his head towards the girl at his side.

I introduce myself to Amanda and say, "You're welcome to stay here, of course." But it will be sort of weird. Dean is my _ex-boyfriend_. I mean, he'll probably see me receive some heart-patterned knickers, or something.

"That was the plan," Dean says, smiling. "Ron invited me and told me the exciting news. I couldn't miss it."

_He_ knows I'm getting an animal, too? Huh.

"Just don't..._try_ anything," Ron warns us. "No…touching _at all_."

Dean laughs nervously and looks away, but I glower at my prat of a brother. "Listen closely, Ronald," I growl. "I shall date _whomever_ I want _whenever_ I want. Is that clear--"

"Does that mean you want to get back together?" Dean interrupts hopefully. His sister has an amused look on her face.

"No!" Ron and I shout in unison.

"I'm just trying to make a point, all right?" I sigh, exasperated.

"But, Ginny--"

"Dean!" It's not me but Amanda who interrupts this time, and I shoot her an appreciative look. "Ginny, why don't you show me around the house? Everything looks fascinating."

I quickly abide, linking her arm with mine and going up the stairs. "Thanks," I mutter, when we are out of earshot of the boys.

Amanda shrugs. "Brothers will be brothers."

"Tell me about it," I mutter darkly. She laughs.

"At least _you_ can hex yours whenever they become too bothersome."

I show her around my room and she looks at my moving photograph of the Harpies in awe. As I'm halfway through explaining how to use the contents of my Skiving Snackbox, a Muggle car pulls up in front of the Burrow. I screech in glee and beckon Amanda to follow me outside. Bill comes out of the car and envelopes me in a hug and after I introduce him to Amanda.

"Can't wizards use some other forms of travel?" she asks, confused, as Bill goes to open the passenger door for Fleur. "Dean does this thing where he disappears from one place and appears in another."

"Well, normally, yes," I say, still happy from seeing Bill; he's been in France for months. "But Phle--I mean, _Fleur_--his wife, that is--is going to have a baby in a few months and Apparition and the Floo Network aren't all very safe."

"Dean's told me a bit about--"

"Ginny! Zat beret clashes _'orribly_ with your 'air." Argh. Can't she spend even _two_ minutes without criticizing me? Honestly. I mean, I know she loves my brother and means well, but she's still…well, _phlegmy_. And besides, I think my beret looks just _fine_.

"Hello, Fleur," I say. "It's good to see you again." To keep her attention away from my faults (which, in her eyes, I'm sure there are many), I add mysteriously, "Something exciting is happening today."

I'm sure _they_ don't care that I'm getting an animal for Christmas, but I'm too excited, which is really very silly. I mean, people get new pets everyday. It's not a very big deal. But still. I've always pictured myself holding a really fat cat in my arms--

"Yes, we know," Bill says, taking his and Fleur's bags inside.

I stop in my tracks. "_You_ know?" I guess my Mum and Dad haven't been keeping it very secret.

"Of course," Fleur says haughtily. "I've met 'im before, you know. I was still--"

_Fleur_ knows my soon-to-be cat? That doesn't sound very promising. What if _she_ suggested him to Mum? He'll be proud like her, and he'll criticize me just by giving me evil stares, and he'll meow with a French accent….

This is ridiculous. Mum wouldn't take Fleur's suggestions seriously, especially when pertaining to me. She knows Fleur and I don't always get along.

All right. I feel better already.

"…saved Gabrielle," Fleur is saying. Amanda seems deeply entwined in Fleur's story, so I just leave them alone and go look for Ron and Dean.

I find them by the broom shed, polishing their brooms.

"…can't play without him," Dean is saying, "because he's really very good, and--oh, hello there, Ginny."

"Hello," I say absentmindedly, taking my own broom from the shed. "Who are you talking about?"

"Harry Potter," Ron says.

My heart sinks and at the same time I feel butterflies in my stomach. Why does any conversation always have to lead to _him_?

"He was the youngest Seeker in a _century_," Ron continues. "I wanted to try for Keeper in fifth and sixth year, but he looked very intimidating. Can you imagine, Harry Potter as my _captain_?"

Dean nods understandingly. "I _did_ try for Chaser in sixth year, but I didn't make it. It was only when Katie Bell got cursed that Potter placed me on the team, and even that didn't last very long. It's mad, isn't it, that we all got on the team because of You-Know-Who? If Potter hadn't left Hogwarts for seventh year, none of us would have tried for our posts, and Ginny wouldn't have been able to play Seeker, anyway--"

"I'd rather have played Chaser," I interrupt. "How often did I tell you this while we were dating?"

Dean looks embarrassed. "I forgot--"

"If Harry Potter hadn't left, Ginny wouldn't have tried out for _any _position," Ron says. "She's have been too frightened that he'd notice her crush on him."

Argh. My fingers are itching towards my wand.

"Hang on," Dean says, taking a deep breath. "Ginny fancied…_Potter_?"

"No! I mean, maybe a _little_. But I was eleven--"

"And then twelve, and thirteen and fourteen and--"

"Shut _up_, Ronald!" I shout in fury. "I _don't_ fancy Harry Potter!"

With that, I throw my broom in the shed and storm into the Burrow. Fleur, Bill and Amanda look at me inquiringly but I rush up the stairs and into my room. Why does _everyone_ always assume that I like Harry bloody Potter? First George, then Ron…. Argh. I think I won't come out of my room until tomorrow, when everyone has left. Although, Mum's cooking is pretty irresistible, and I wouldn't want to wait until the morning to eat the leftovers. And I also don't want to miss seeing my very own cat.

So maybe I'll come out tonight. For only a little, though. But whatever happens, nothing is going to get in the way of me getting a cat. There's still hope for this Christmas to not be a complete horror. What would I name him, anyway?

Charles? No, that's too formal. And I wouldn't want people to confuse him with Charlie.

Max? No, that's a dog's name.

Hmm.

I know! Presenting, spouse of the frighteningly mad muse of Mr. Argus Filch: _Mr._ Norris.

Oh, no! Where did that come from. I think I'll lie down before I hurt myself.

* * *

"Ginny?"

"Huh?"

"You'd better get up. It's supper time."

"Doan' wanna gitup," I mumble through my pillow.

"Fine then," the voice says. "Suit yourself. You'll miss all the excitement."

At that, I jump out of bed. "Right!" I bellow. "_Mr. Norris_!"

Hermione's standing in front of me, looking at me as if I've gone mad.

I clear my throat. "I mean--how was your last-minute shopping?"

"Fine," she answers, picking pieces of clothing off of my floor. "We just had to pick out some fresh fruits, and your mum couldn't leave without the potatoes…. Your father's home from the Ministry, by the way, and Andromeda is here with Teddy. The Delacours dropped by to say hello, but they had to leave, due to some 'prior engagement.' Gabrielle was begging to stay--she wants to be part of the excitement, of course--but Monsieur Delacour didn't suppose that he'd like an extra pair of eyes following his every move--"

God. Does _everyone_ know about my cat? I suppose there must be something special about him if they are all as excited as I am.

"Anyway," Hermione finishes, placing my clothes in a neat pile on my bed, "your mum wants you downstairs immediately. I've got to go and make sure Ron isn't doing something stupid. You never know what might happen when he and George are in the same room."

After she leaves, I look at myself in the mirror. So much for having my hair perfect today: there are stray strands all over. I'll just put it up in a ponytail. It's not like there's anyone coming who I care what they think of my hair.

It's not like Harry Potter is coming.

Downstairs looks wonderful. We have tons of fairy lights wrapped around the tree, and more lights just about anywhere else you look. Ron and Dean are teaching Amanda how to play Exploding Snap; Mum is flicking her wand everywhere, trying to get everything sorted out on time and Andromeda is trying to help her; Hermione is supervising George, who is digging around suspiciously in his pockets; Dad is trying to explain to Fleur how ekeltricity works; Bill and Charlie are battling over which Quidditch team is the best; Percy is droning on about work to no one in particular, and little Teddy is toddling about, changing his hair color from blue to green to pink for all to see.

"Ginny!" Mum calls when she sees me. "Check on the fireplace, will you? I asked everyone to Floo over, and I'm afraid the magical fire may've been left unattended. We don't want Ashwinders slithering about…."

Sure enough, the fire is a smoldering green. Not wanting to wait around for it to die out on its own, I whip out my wand and lean in, preparing to extinguish it. This is unlucky because in a millisecond, someone comes spinning out of the fire, and before he can catch himself, he falls forward--right on top of me.

Before I even hear his soft voice groan "Sodding hell" I know it's Harry Potter. He smells completely amazing, and I can feel his chiseled chest on my arm. But Merlin's pants, he is heavy. It must be all that lean muscle mass.

Gosh, I wish I could feel his chest properly. If I just moved my arm up a bit and rotated my hand a little to the right…. He'd never know!

Ginevra Molly Weasley. Do _not_ feel Harry Potter's chest. Don't do it…

A few more inches…

Don't, don't…

Thank Merlin. He's rolled off of me and now we're laying side by side, our breaths coming out in rasps.

After a few seconds of silence, he turns his face towards mine and says, "Funny way we have of meeting each other."

I laugh at that.

Before either of us can get up, Teddy spots us and rushes over, shouting "Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry!" on the way, his R's turned into W's. He jumps on Harry Potter's chest and asks, "Where my present?"

"Is that all I'm useful for?" Harry jokes. "Gifts?"

"What's going on here?"

It's Dean, Ron and George. They are all looking at us suspiciously.

And by some chance, now that I look more closely, Harry and I are _extremely_ close together. His right arm is touching my left, and when he turns to face me, our noses are barely and inch apart.

Fantastic. Ron will never let me live this down.

Harry lifts Teddy off of his chest and stands up, offering me a hand.

"Ginny and I just knocked into each other," he explains, brushing soot off of his cloak. "Or, _I_ fell on _her_--sorry, by the way," he adds to me. "I've never been very good at Flooing…. Oh, you have something on your hair, Ginny."

Oh, God. Harry Potter is delicately picking a piece of soot off of my hair while I stand here, my cheeks burning, the boys looking at us incredulously.

George rolls his eyes, muttering, "Not again."

"What do you mean--not _again_?" Dean questions, his voice panicky. "Has this happened _before_?"

"Ginny here," Harry says, smiling softly at me, "is a bit clumsy."

"So are _you_," I accuse. _He_'s the one who fell on _me_.

He smiles his beautiful smile again. "Only around you…"

My cheeks are burning again, I know it. Dean is looking murderous.

"So," I say, trying to ease the tension. "What brings you here?"

Harry's eyes snap towards mine. "I was under the impression that I was invited."

"_Invited_!" I shrill with a fake note of glee. "Of course! Silly me, how could I have forgotten?"

_Invited_? And no one _tells_ me?

It looks like he's going to question me some more, but luckily Hermione calls us to dinner. I quickly make my way to the kitchen and take a seat at the elongated table. Amanda smiles at me from across the table, where my dad is questioning her about all things Muggle. Fleur and Bill are close to making out on the table, so I turn away quickly, only to find Harry Potter pulling up a chair beside my own, Teddy in his arms. Dean rushes to my other side and sits there, shooting Harry another murderous look. What is his problem, anyway?

"I didn't know you and Teddy are related," I tell Harry.

His face immediately clouds over. "We're not," he says quietly. "I'm his godfather. His father was a good friend of mine, of my father's…"

I don't know what to say. Everyone knows what happened to his parents, but I've never heard him speak of them himself.

"Ginny!" Dean blurts. "You missed our Quidditch match. I had been hoping you'd play with me--I mean, we have _always_ meshed well together--but I still managed to score eleven times without you."

"Oh, that's--"

"You two always played well together, did you?" Harry interrupts. He's looking past me, straight at Dean.

"Yes," Dean answers promptly. "_Extremely_ well."

"I wonder," Harry says, filling Teddy's plate with soft foods, "what would be the outcome if Ginny and _I_ played against you and one of her brothers?"

"We can't," Dean says quickly. "It's too dark out."

Harry smiles. "You're not afraid of a challenge, are you?"

Before Dean can retort, Dad clears his throat importantly. Every quiets down and looks at him.

"As you all know, we have a guest with us today," he says, tipping his glass towards Harry, whose cheeks are turning red. "This is his first Christmas with us, and hopefully not the last."

By now, everyone is looking at Harry in wonder, and I can just imagine how uncomfortable he must be feeling. Even Dean has remembered that this is the _Boy-Who-Lived_, so he's not shooting him looks full of loathing anymore, whatever that was about.

After Dad finishes his mini-speech, I take a bite of Mum's delicious lamb roast.

Wow. That is _so_ good. It's a good thing I came down from my room.

This Christmas might not be so bad after all.

And I still have my cat to look forward to.

* * *

Bloody sodding, sodding shitty hell.

Argh. I hate this bloody Christmas.

It turns out that sodding Mr. Norris isn't sodding _real_.

He's actually Harry Potter, or, should I say, _Harry Potter_ is what the excitement was all about.

How did I not know this? Argh.

It was horrible. We were opening gifts, and I couldn't see my cat anywhere. I figured Mum and Dad were going to bring him out at the last minute to surprise me, but after most of the gifts were opened and there was no sign of him anywhere, I began to worry.

"Hermione," I whispered, "do you have any idea when my parents are going to bring out my cat?"

"Your what?" Hermione whispered back. Obviously, she was trying to pretend like she knew nothing about it.

"My _cat_, of course. You don't have to pretend like you don't know, Hermione. I know everyone's excited about him."

"But, _Ginny_!" Hermione exclaimed, trying to keep her voice at a whisper. "What _ever_ gave you the idea that people were excited about your--as far as I know--non-existent cat?"

"But…but Mum and you and Dad and _everyone_ have been dropping hints of the exciting thing happening today…. You said I'd miss it…. You _said_."

"Ginny," Hermione corrected, "everyone was excited because _Harry Potter _was coming over for dinner."

Of course. Everything is always about sodding Harry Potter.

And then, to make matters worse, someone threw me an elaborately-wrapped gift. This at first didn't seem so awful, but then I opened it.

And, Merlin's pants, it turned out to be _heart-patterned knickers_. I stood there in the middle of the room, shocked and unable to bring down my arms. And then Harry broke off from his animated conversation with Ron and looked over at me. His lips twitched, trying to keep from laughing.

"Oh! Zey are _per_fect," Fleur cooed, clapping her hands together. "I _knew_ zey would match your 'air…"

I couldn't take it anymore. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears away. "Excuse me," I manage to spit out, before rushing outside.

So you see, the universe _does_ hate me, after all.

Now I'm in the garden, sitting on a rock, refreshing snow on my face.

I bet _he_'s still laughing, having a bloody good time.

"Ginny?"

Oh, no. It's him. I still have the knickers in my hands, so I put them behind my back. This is pretty stupid because he's behind me.

I turn around and his lips are twitching again.

"Oh, go on," I say angrily. "Laugh all you want. I'm a bloody _circus_."

His lips stop twitching immediately. "No, it's not that," he quickly explains. "It's just…your face looked so shocked and…I'm sorry."

I turn away from him, so he continues, "You must be having a pretty bad day, huh?"

I sigh. "You don't even know the half of it. First Dean comes over and I just _knew_ he was going to see me receive some heart-patterned knickers, and then he tries to get back together with me and Ron accuses me of liking someone who I _don't_ fancy--honestly--and…"

The words are just flowing out of my mouth. I can't help it.

"…then you pop out of the fireplace, and I still thought I was going to receive a fat cat named Mr. Norris from my parents, but it turned out _you_ were the big surprise, and then I open these--" I thrust the underpants in his face "--in front of everybody…"

Now I actually have tears rolling down my cheeks.

"_Mr. Norris_?" he asks after a little bit.

So we both start laughing, because really, it's very silly.

"Come on," he says after we've calmed down. "We better go inside before you catch a cold."

Inside, everyone is having fun again. Mum and Andromeda are singing along to the Wireless, George has let off some fireworks (Hermione, who is trying to beat Ron at Wizard's Chess, doesn't even seem to mind) and is showing Amanda more Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes…

And even though Fred is gone and some things haven't gone the way I expected today, I realize that it really _has_ been a wonderful Christmas.

* * *

**AN: **There, a nice long chapter for you. Reviews would be awesome.


	4. Of a Drunken Redhead and Mistletoe

**Author:** Molly

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it, sadly.

**AN:** Before, this chapter was going to go in a completely different direction. Then Bodrugan mentioned mistletoe, and I just had to have it! It just goes to show, reviews _do_ make a difference (wink, wink!). By the way, Ginny gets a little mad with the profanities in this chapter, but after all she's been through, it's explainable, now isn't it?

* * *

4. Of a Drunken Redhead and Mistletoe

I think I may be going mad, honestly.

These past few weeks, all I can think about is Harry Potter. Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that…

It gets bloody annoying, all right? I'd rather not be drooling my head off thinking of him while Gwenog Jones interviews me for a new position in the Harpies, which is exactly what I did a couple of days ago. Actual try-outs are a few months away, but apparently they want "to get to know the real Ginny Weasley" first. Gwenog told me sweetly that I looked very promising, and she'd consider me.

Translation: "You're a bloody failure at life and you're definitely not getting on the team, and you'd also better wipe that dream-like smile off of your face because Harry bloody Potter doesn't bloody fancy you, and besides, he has a beautiful girlfriend who we'd much rather have playing with us."

Argh. There goes my career, and all because of sodding Harry Potter.

While we're on the subject of said Chosen One, Ron says that he and Harry have been getting along splendidly since Christmas. Harry's actually been over to his and Hermione's flat a few times to play _Wizard's Chess_, of all things.

This is bloody fantastic.

Hermione and Ron and Harry will become fast friends and I'll have no _choice_ but to see Harry practically every day. I think there's a conspiracy going on to ruin my life, honestly. I mean, how am I supposed to concentrate on the important things when I'll have Harry Potter in my line of sight every minute of every day of my _life_?

Exactly.

I think I'll go check George's room and see if he managed to hide a bottle of Firewhiskey from Mum. I need to fog up my mind so that I won't be able to think of _any_ of this.

All right, where did George hide that bloody bottle? I know there's one around here somewhere, for emergencies. I'm not supposed to know about it, but do Ron and George seriously think that the gnomes dug into their hidden compartment, pulled off the cover of their bottle and drained the contents last summer? I mean, I _did_ make a hole that looked convincingly like it was gnome-dug, but still. I suppose they have always been pretty thick, or Ron, anyway…

Where is that damn bloody Firewhiskey?

Yes! If George thinks he's going to hide it in bottle titled Love Potion (Fall In Love With the First Male You See) and confuse possible Firewhiskey searchers, he's got another think coming!

Hmmm. It smells so…Firewhiskey-ly, actually. I've only ever had the drink about twice in my life, and it always made me a little sick…

But that was in my younger days. I'm sure I'll have the stomach for it this time.

I'm about to take my first sip, but I hear someone Apparating, so I place the bottle under George's bed.

"Ginny!" It's Ron. He's probably come to brag about his lunch with Harry, or something.

"Yes?" I answer sweetly.

"I need you to do something for me."

"What could you _possibly_ want, Dear Brother?"

Ron eyes me suspiciously, but then decides to go on. "We're going to Hogsmeade--Hermione, Harry and I, that is--, and Hermione figures that since it's sort of a date for she and I, you have to double-date with Harry."

_What_?

"Ex_cuse_ me? You don't tell me who I have to date!"

Oh, bloody, sodding hell. Why does this always happen to me? _Why_? Have I done something to upset higher beings somewhere?

"The last time I checked," Ron says smugly, "you were in _love_ with Harry. I'd think I'd actually be doing you a favor…"

Argh!

"I'm not in love with Harry Potter, you git!"

"Whatever you say, Ginny."

"Listen here," I growl, "I'm not going on your stupid date."

"Fine then," he says absentmindedly. "If anything slips out to Harry about your crush on him…. Well, you'll not be there to stop me. You never know what I may say…"

Oh my God. The bloody _git_.

"If you utter _one_ word..." I threaten menacingly.

"Aha!" Ron cries triumphantly. "So you _do _still fancy him."

Dammit!

"No! I don't--"

"Well, then, it can't hurt if I say anything."

I'm speechless, and my mouth is hanging open.

Ron grins and says "Tonight, at eight; The Three Broomsticks; we'll be seeing you," before Disapparating.

Shitty, shitty hell.

Um.

Okay. Calm down, Ginny. The world hasn't gone mad. My overprotective brother hasn't just blackmailed me into a date with the most fanciable man in the world.

Only, he has.

The bloody prat.

What is his problem anyway? One minute he doesn't want me dating, the next he's got England's most eligible bachelor on my doorstep! He probably thinks Harry Potter wouldn't fall for me, anyway.

Argh. I think I'll go down the entire bottle of Firewhiskey.

I retrieve the bottle from under the bed and take an enormous swallow. Sweet Merlin! God, that's fiery. If I drink the entire bottle, I'll definitely not be able to think about anything else.

Ugh…

This is what Harry Potter is putting me through, the prat.

Wait, no. This is what _Ronald_ is putting me through. The Bloody Prat.

Oh. Merlin.

Please, no. Oh, God.

You know how I found the Firewhiskey in the bottle titled Love Potion (Fall In Love With the First Male You See)? And how I thought it was just one of George's tricks?

Yes.

I just had a thought.

A terrible, heart-wrenching, able-to-make-someone-suicidal thought, to be exact.

I bet you are wondering what this terrible, heart-wrenching, able-to-make-someone-suicidal thought is.

So I will indulge you: What if there really _was_ love potion mixed in there?

Honestly. This is just the kind of thing George would do. And I tasted something that could have been love potion. It tasted like…well, like Firewhiskey. But I know it was there. Because that's just how my luck--or lack thereof--works.

Anyway, "What if there really _was_ love potion mixed in there?" isn't my complete, terrible, heart-wrenching, able-to-make-someone-suicidal thought. The rest of it is: And what if I run into Harry Potter?

What would happen then? I _know _I'm not in love with him _now_, but I _will _be. And then Ron will have ammunition on me for seven lifetimes.

Oh, Merlin.

Ew.

Ew to the infinite power.

What if _Ron _is the first male I see? What would happen then? I mean, there has to be some kind of magical power that bypasses all other magic and makes it impossible to love a family member _that_ way.

There had bloody well better me.

This is bloody fantastic.

I think I'll just stay home and let the potion wear off.

Argh. I've dropped on George's bed because suddenly my head has gone all dizzy.

I think I'm going to be sick. I suppose my stomach couldn't take love-potion-spiked Firewhiskey, after all.

No, I can't stay home. Ron will inform Harry of my _non-existent_ crush on him. I'd never be able to live another day of my life!

All right, I have a plan. My plan is: Go to Hogsmeade.

It is not a good plan, but it's something. I can't be expected to think up better plans, what with my currently woozy condition. But I must go, since I can't have Harry Potter knowing that I love him.

Not that I love him, but _he_ won't know that.

* * *

All right. I've finally gotten ready for my bizarre date with Harry.

Somewhat.

I mean, how am I supposed to do _anything_, let alone get ready for a date with _Harry Potter_, when I'm zonked out on Firewhiskey? It's a miracle that I even managed to make my hair look reasonable. Besides, I had to take all those breaks from preparation when I was sick in the toilet, and because of that I've had to clean my mouth about ten times in the last few hours.

Although, now my teeth look perfectly white, like Veela models'.

Not that I'm implying that I'm a model, or anything. _Plea_se.

All I mean to say is that if I do something extremely embarrassing--like kiss Harry Potter on the mouth on account of how I've drunk an entire bottle of love-potion-spiked Firewhiskey--at least I'll have nice breath.

Not that I _plan_ on kissing him. But still. You never know what may happen when you down a bottle of George's love potions.

Which is why I need another plan. For not falling in love with Harry Potter, I mean.

Here is my new plan: I'll Floo to The Three Broomsticks, since I will indubitably splinch myself if I try Apparition in my current state of intoxication. Then, I will shut my eyes until I hear the voice of a strange wizard. Then I'll open my eyes and fall in love with said strange wizard instead of Harry Potter.

Again, it is an awful plan, but I can't be expected to do better.

Although, it would be nicer to fall in love with Harry Potter than a strange wizard. I mean, what if this strange wizard is _old_? Or stinky?

Oh, Merlin. I knew this plan was rubbish.

But it's all I've got. And, sodding hell, I haven't got time to think up a new one! It's already bloody eight o'clock.

Time to go make a bigger fool of myself.

Fantastic.

* * *

Oopsy-daisy.

So, as was in my plan, I've Flooed to The Three Broomsticks. The only problem is, I've landed on someone. Which I suppose I should have expected, seeing as I'm completely arseholed at the moment.

Anywho, I've taken someone to the floor with me. I suppose I should be thankful it's not Harry Po--

"Hello, Ginny."

Oh. My. God.

I spoke too quickly. It just so happens that Harry Potter is lying beneath me, looking dazzling, even though I've knocked him to the ground, yet _again_--

Bloody hell.

Um.

Yes, you understood correctly. Harry is looking dazzling.

How would I know this, you ask, if I were supposed to have my eyes shut?

The answer is simple: bloody, sodding shit.

I can feel the potion working already. Oh, God. Ginny, do _not_--

Sodding hell. I've just kissed Harry Potter.

Oh, my God. People in the shop are looking at us curiously, trying to figure out what a mad, drunken redhead is doing lying on top of Harry Potter, probably.

And worse than that is Harry himself. He's looking stunned, his emerald eyes wide behind his glasses. He can't speak, because he's disgusted by the thought of my lips on his, no doubt.

Which is why I jump to my feet and run out of the shop, literally. I turn a fast corner and crash into someone. We both fall to the ground, and I catch a look at this someone.

Oh, God. It's Rita Skeeter.

"Where are _you_ going?" I question suspiciously.

"I have important things to do," Rita proclaims, getting to her feet. "You're a Weasley, aren't you? I thought so. Well, if you don't mind, I've got an important meeting with a certain Mr. Harry Potter."

"A _meeting_!" I cry, jumping up from the ground. "Why would Harry meet with _you_?"

Probably to talk about the mad, redheaded witch who is I and who has a crush on him. Although Harry would never be that shallow. But worse things have happened to me.

Rita sighs haughtily. "_Please_. Do you think I actually set up meetings? No, I like to catch them off guard."

What a cow.

She looks me up and down and says, "I just received a tip from a trusted friend who claims Mr. Potter has just been kissing an unknown subject." God, she makes me sound like one of those evil murderers on Muggle felitisions that Dad makes me watch with him. "You wouldn't happen to have seen anything?"

Um, hello! I'm standing right here. Ginevra Molly Weasley, Kisser of Chosen Ones.

She wouldn't believe me if I told her anyway. Which I wouldn't, by the way. I mean, I'm sure Harry would rather keep his private life secret. And I wouldn't mind not making a fool on myself _again_ on the front page of the _Prophet_.

So I shake my head.

Rita gives a little snort of disapproval. God, just because I'm not a cow like her, she thinks she's better. If she only knew what I had been doing a minute ago…

Which, actually, I'd rather forget. It's not like Harry was kissing me back, or even just enjoying me kissing him all on my own.

Rita heads off toward The Three Broomsticks, her Quick Quotes Quill already out. I can't let her bombard Harry! He's already been through enough, what with my kissing him. I've got to at least try to help him.

"Wait!" I call out to Rita. "I did hear something. I think Harry Potter's going to the Hog's Head, something about 'top secret information.'"

Rita's face grows gleeful, and she suddenly Disapparates with a _pop_.

There, at least I've gotten rid of her for the time being.

I start walking down the street looking for a shop with a smaller crowd so I can Floo home. When I turn another corner, I see Ron and Hermione walking hand-in-hand.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asks.

"Anywhere," I answer gloomily.

"What about The Three Broomsticks?" Ron says. "You were supposed to meet us there."

"Already been."

"And Harry?"

"He's there too."

"Why are you leaving then?"

"Be_cause_," I snap, "I don't want to _be_ here."

"You have to," Ron says. "Or else Harry will be knowing that you fancy him."

I almost laugh. As if he doesn't already.

"Ronald!" Hermione scolds. "Ginny doesn't have to do anything! I thought you said she was okay with this?"

"Well, she _was_--"

"Don't you lie to me! I know you very well, Ronald…"

I leave them to their bickering and continue along the street. This gives me plenty of time to think of everything that's been going on. The good part is, no one but Harry and I--and the many bystanders--will know of my little…episode. The bad part is, I'll have to see Harry everyday if I'm going to maintain my relationship with Ron and Hermione.

Great.

I've been walking for a while now, not even paying attention to where I'm going. It doesn't matter, as long as I get away.

I hear running footsteps behind me, but I don't look back.

"Ginny!"

Oh, no. It's Harry. I keep walking, pretending I don't hear him.

"Ginny, hang on!"

Keep walking…

"Ginny, stop ignoring me! I need to speak to you, _please_!"

His footsteps are closer now, right behind me.

"Ginny…." He grabs my wrist and spins me around to face him. He's out of breath and he's got a lovely flush to his cheeks…

I pull my wrist away but he reaches for both of my hands and intertwines my fingers with his. My heart starts to beat at an abnormally large rate.

"What--what are you doing?" I manage to mumble, my voice trembling.

"Ron told me you were running away from me," he says, stepping closer to me.

Why must Ron always interfere?

"I wasn't…. Not really."

"Please, Ginny," he pleads. "Don't run away."

What is he saying?

"I--what do you care?"

He tightens his hold on my fingers. "I've fallen for you, Ginny Weasley. In the literal sense, too," he adds as an afterthought.

I cringe. It's not like I purposefully fell on him.

But, is he really saying what I think he's saying?

Merlin's pants.

Harry glances up and smiles. "Mistletoe."

Oh my God. I've realized we're standing in front of Madam Puddifoot's, and the mistletoe hasn't been taken down from Christmas. This is happening just because of me, isn't it? It's just my luck--

Hmmm.

Merlin's beard.

Harry Potter can _kiss_. My luck is not so bad after--

Hmmmmm.

* * *

**AN:** In the next chapter you'll witness Valentine's Day and the return of Mr. Norris. In the meantime, remember to review this one…


	5. The Return of Mr Norris and More Valent

**Disclaimer: **No, fortunately I don't own Harry Potter. Because if I did, the amount of craziness Ginny would subject herself to would be overwhelming.

**Molly**: Yay! Summer vacation has finally started, so hopefully that means more updates for you.

* * *

5. The Return of Mr. Norris and More Valentine's Day Surprises

"Ginny?"

"Hmm?"

"You're drooling again."

I am not!

"I am not!"

God, can't a girl fantasize about her boyfriend without her friends and family interrupting all the time?

Merlin—_boyfriend_. I'm actually dating Harry Potter.

I mean, it shouldn't be such a huge deal anymore since we've been dating for almost a month, but still.

Have I mentioned that he's kind and loving and intelligent and brave and beautiful? Because he is, among other things.

Oh my God! Ahh! I feel like squealing every time I think of him. And me. We. He and I. Oh my gosh.

But I won't. Squeal, that is. I don't squeal. Except sometimes when I think of Harry. Harry and Ginny, the Chosen Couple—

No. I don't squeal. Instead, I'll just—

"Drool." Luna pulls her dragon-spectacles-bedecked face away from the newest edition of _The Quibbler_ and inspects me carefully. "Yes, right there, a drop on the side of your mouth."

She looks at me suspiciously. Oh, God. She knows, doesn't she?

"I know what this means, Ginny."

My heart sinks. Harry and I have this plot to keep our relationship a secret. For as long as possible, at least. He's thinking of me, because he doesn't want me to have the paparazzi following my every move. I'm doing it for…well, for me, too. Yes, that's extremely selfish, but I'd rather my family not know of this. George and Ron wouldn't stop teasing me, if they knew, and probably they'd try to break Harry and I up, too.

And I wouldn't want that because Harry is simply _amazing_. On top of being the greatest snogger in the world, he's also a brilliant Quidditch player. I knew this before, but now that I've actually played with him, he's just that much more fantastic. It's also a wonderful feeling just to cuddle next to him and talk about anything and everything. And also, he defeated the most powerful Dark Lord of our time. If you didn't realize.

Anywho, Luna knows. Crapola.

"Er…what do you mean, Luna?" I mumble.

She leans in towards me omnisciently, her bottle-cap necklace jingling. "A Wrackspurt has got you, hasn't it?"

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Thank Merlin; she thinks it's one of her mythical creatures. Which one were these, again? The ones that kill you while you sleep if you don't feed them organic milk?

No, I don't know. Whatever.

"Oh, yes, that's right," I say. "The Wrackspurts."

Because, honestly, who wouldn't rather be attacked by fictional creatures than have everyone knowing of her very non-platonic relationship with a certain Boy Who Lived?

Exactly.

"…if you want to go," Luna is saying.

"Sorry?"

Luna sighs. "It seems as if multiple Wrackspurts have infested you. Strange. I didn't hear them buzzing around."

I've long stopped trying to convince Luna that her creatures don't exist. After being her best friend for many years, you sort of stop even telling the difference between when she speaks in Luna talk or normal talk. Probably this is because she never actually speaks normally. But still.

"I was saying, Ginny," Luna explains slowly, "that I have a pair of tickets to go see Donald the Human Aragniofard tomorrow night. I assume you haven't made any special plans already?"

"Plans for what?"

Luna has obviously decided that I indeed have a large number of Wrackspurt infestations because she calmly explains, "For Valentine's Day."

Sodding hell. Valentine's Day already? Of course Luna would assume I have no plans, seeing as I've been single for months.

Or so she thinks.

But still, I must get out of seeing this Donald the Human Aragniofard. Firstly because I'd rather have my guts ripped out by an organic-milk-obsessing thingy than actually meet someone named Donald the Human Aragniofard. Secondly, because I have plans with Harry, of course.

So I say, "Why would you assume I've nothing planned?"

I have _splendid_ plans, actually—

Hang on. Harry and I haven't even discussed Valentine's Day. He hasn't even said anything about it, has he? He's completely forgotten it!

The prat.

_I_ would never forget something like this, honestly.

"…and on top of that," Luna is saying, "you _forgot_ it was Valentine's Day."

Oh.

Never mind.

So Harry forgot. It doesn't matter. I'm not one of those obsessive girls who get angry or tearful over something like this.

Although it would have been nice to receive a bouquet of flowers. And a good snog.

Hmm. Just thinking about Harry's snogs—

"Ginny?"

"Yes?"

"Will you be able to make it?"

"Um…sorry. I have to buy Errol owl treats."

_What_? Have I gone mad?

"Only, not regular owl treats. These are…special. Very, special. So special, in fact, that there's a Valentine's Day special especially for them."

Oh, God. I should have stopped at "owl treats." It's not like Luna actually cares if I don't want to go.

But I still feel guilty for lying to her.

"Why don't you ask Rolf to go with you?" I suggest. Luna has totally fallen in love with Rolf Scamander, honestly. Even if she doesn't show it.

Luna shrugs. "Maybe."

I roll my eyes. People need to learn to follow their instincts. Look at me—I've been in love with Harry for _ages_ and we're together now!

Not that I actually was the one to initiate the relationship, unless you count drunkenly kissing the Chosen One. But, in my defense, George later told me that there actually never _was_ any love potion mixed in with that Firewhisky. So all my acts were done when I was love-sober.

So there.

* * *

"_I'm in love with you, Ginny."_

Hmm.

"_You're the love of my life, Ginny."_

Harry, I've loved you since I could breathe.

"_Ginny, my love."_

Oh, Harry—argh!

Crookshanks is trying to take a bite out of my arm.

"Crookshanks, you prat! I was having a very lovely series of dreams! Bloody cat…"

I slowly rise from bed, shooting him a nasty look. He's trying to pull off an innocent look, I know it, but his squashed face can't quite manage it.

"Be happy I agreed to take you in for the day. Just know that you will _not_ be getting any Valentine gifts."

Ron and Hermione have gone away for a romantic evening and I agreed to watch him. Because, sadly, I will not be having a romantic evening myself.

Fantastic.

I pull myself to the bathroom and take a long shower. After I've finished getting ready, I head downstairs to the kitchen.

Mum and Dad are at the table eating breakfast and sharing the paper.

"Morning, Mum, Dad."

"Hello, dear. Have some eggs." The kitchen smells wonderful, as usual. One thing I'll definitely miss when I move out is my mother's cooking.

"Anything interesting in the news?" I ask as I grab my plate and sit down.

Dad shakes his head. "Not unless you count the numerable stories on Harry Potter."

I feel butterflies in my stomach. Even hearing his name makes me excited.

"The poor boy," Mum says. "Can't they leave him alone for a minute?"

Dad sighs. "He's a hero, Molly. The world needs a hero after all these years of fear and hardships."

"Well, let's just hope they keep out of his way today. He needs a holiday."

"Which reminds me," I say. "I can stay at Ron and Hermione's flat today, so you two can have the night alone."

"Oh, Ginny," Mum says, "that's not necessary."

"No, Mum, I insist."

"Oh, all right, then." Mum is pleased, I can tell. "Here, have some bacon."

"No, I'm stuffed. I have to go out—get Errol some owl treats, you know."

In actuality, I'm going to buy Harry a Valentine gift. Even if he forgets all about today, _I've_ remembered—or, been reminded—so I must do _something_.

"How is Dean these days?" Mum suddenly asks.

"How should I know?"

"Well, I thought since he came over for Christmas—"

"Mum," I say, "I am _not_ dating Dean again, if that's what you are getting at."

"But he's such a nice boy—"

"Mum!"

She wouldn't be saying all this if she knew whom I'm dating now. Harry is a million times more suited for me than Dean could ever be.

Mum grumbles, "Well, I still want grandchildren from you, Ginevra."

Oh my God! I'm only eighteen, for Godric's sake!

"Molly, Ginny is eighteen."

Thank you!

Has the world gone mad? First Ron blackmails me into a date with Harry, and now my own mother!

It seems as if I'm one of the few sane people left in the world.

And that's saying something.

* * *

I've finally settled on buying Harry a new broomstick kit because his is getting short on supplies. And then there's barely anything else I can buy, seeing as I'm on a low budget, seeing as how I'm still living at home and don't have a job.

So I might as well just use the rest of my gold for owl treats. I expect Errol may be looking forward to them after all the talk of them.

As I push my way through Diagon Alley toward Eeylops Owl Emporium I spot Harry in the crowd. When he finally catches my eye his face takes on a stricken look.

Oh my God! The arse! As soon as he saw me he turned around and went the other direction!

I speed up and strangers give me evil glares for pushing. I don't pay attention because I've got to find out why Harry's trying to sneak away from me.

"Harry James Potter!" I shout. "You better stay exactly where you are or I will curse you to the end of the century!"

This is a pretty stupid thing to do because now people are trying to look and see where Harry Potter is, and even trying to get a good look at me.

Finally there's a break in the crowd so I take my chance to sprint toward Harry. When I catch up to him, he's got a terrified look on his face.

"Ginny," he huffs, "what if people see us together? I should go…"

"No you don't! Never mind what these people think," I say. "I want to know why you're running away from me. And what is that in your cloak?"

Because I've just noticed a bulge in his chest. Oh my God—it moved.

"It moved!" I cry. "What is under there?"

"It's nothing…"

I glare at him.

"It's just my Invisibility Cloak, Ginny, honestly—"

"You have an _Invisibility Cloak_?"

"Well, yes—"

"And you never _told _me?"

"I didn't think it was important."

Anywho, that doesn't explain how it was moving.

"That doesn't explain how it moved."

Now Harry looks stricken again. "That…would be my chest muscles. Yes. They are quite strong actually. So much so, in fact, that they can flex and move on their own."

Merlin, I'd like to see that. I didn't realize he was _that_ muscular. He does have some well-defined muscles, but he doesn't look buffed at all.

"I've got to see that someday," I say, and Harry's cheeks flush. "Hey, you don't happen to have a hippogriff tattooed on your chest, do you?"

"No, of course not! Where'd you get that idea?"

"A girl at Hogwarts—"

_Meow._

Oh, my God. Harry just meowed.

"You just meowed!"

He looks terrified again. "No I didn't," he says quickly. "You must be going mad, Ginny."

"I am _not_ mad," I shout. "You _totally_ meowed, you—"

_Meowww_.

"There, again! Don't tell me I'm mad!"

"All right, all right!" Harry cries. "I did it. I meowed."

I narrow my eyes. Now I don't think he did, actually.

"Well, I'll be going!"

With that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd.

I still have my eyes narrowed when someone speaks in my ear.

"He's handsome, isn't he?"

I turn around to find a girl who I recognize from Hogwarts looking where Harry has just disappeared.

"Who?" I ask, having a pretty good idea who, actually.

"Harry Potter, of course," she says haughtily, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Yes, my suspicions have been confirmed. I suddenly have the urge to turn this girl into a chicken.

But I don't. Instead I ask, "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry's girlfriend."

_What_?

"Or, I will be," she continues. "I'm Romilda Vane. You may have heard of me—the president of the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club."

Oh, my God. I can't believe this is happening to me.

"What makes you so sure Harry will date you?" I manage to growl through my teeth.

"Oh, I have a plan. You see..."

God, what a bloody cow. She's _plotting_ to steal Harry from me. I feel like screaming that Harry is _my_ bloody boyfriend, but I suppress this urge too.

"Hmmm…"

Don't do anything rash, Ginny.

"I _know_ he loves me…"

God, she's more like Romilda _Vain_, if you ask me.

Nothing rash…

"...and he will be _mine_," she finishes.

I can't do it anymore.

"HARRY IS _MY_ BLOODY BOYFRIEND!"

Wow. That feels fantastic. Only now people are looking at me like I'm a nutter.

But Romilda doesn't look fazed. "Really?" she laughs. "That's not what it looked like to me."

"Oh, really? Well, luckily I don't _care_ what you think." Cow. What spell was it McGonagall showed us for transforming humans into animals?

Hmm.

You can't actually properly transform people into animals without them being Animagii, so if I did, she'd probably never be back to human form.

Which isn't really a great loss, honestly. I mean, who would miss a vain cow like her?

No one, that's who.

Argh. Now she has a look of pity splashed upon her face. "Ginny, Ginny…. That's your name right? Yes, I'm sorry to break it to you, but Harry is _not_ your boyfriend."

Yes, you're sorry. Not.

And Harry _is_ my damn boyfriend.

"You can be sorry all you want," I retort. "Be sorry that Harry is _my_ boyfriend and not _yours, _Romilda."

Her cheeks flare up in anger, but then she calmly says, "Ginny, you're delusional. Go home, get some sleep, and leave Harry Potter alone. Please, it's for his own sake."

"Why don't you shut your bloody mouth?" Merlin, I'm usually only this hostile when Ron really annoys me.

Romilda sighs. "All right, let me put it this way: why is it that _no one_ knows of your supposed relationship with Harry?"

Um, hello? Are you daft? Honestly. _Obviously_ we have to keep it a secret.

"_Obviously_—"

"And _please_ don't give me the whole 'we have to keep it a secret because we can't stand that kind of pressure on our relationship' thing," she interrupts with a roll of her eyes. "Here." She hands me the newest edition of _Witch Weekly_, which has Harry's handsome face splashed across the cover.

"It's the Valentine's Day special," Romilda says. "Look—here. '_Harry Potter, the Wizarding world's most eligible _bachelor—'"

"I don't _care_ what this says," I snap. "I _know _Harry far better than you do, so please, mind your own damn business."

"All right then—why were you two having a row?"

How does she know that, huh? How long was she standing there watching us, anyway? Besides, it wasn't a _row_.

"It wasn't a _row_. God, have you been _spying _on us? Honestly, would anyone even stoop that low?"

I suppose she would. Cow.

Romilda slowly lets a long breath. "Okay, Ginny," she starts in an impatient voice. "I didn't want to tell you this—obviously you're very disturbed—but Harry _hired_ me to keep you away from him."

Huh?

"_What?"_

Romilda nods. "He says ever since he became friends with your brother you've been following his every move, having it in your head that you're dating. He has to wear his Invisibility Cloak to hide from you—"

"How do _you_ know about his Cloak?" I ask, my voice panicky.

"I know a lot more than you think, Ginny."

Oh, God. It can't be true can it?

No, of course not. I haven't gone mad. I would know if I'd gone mad.

Although I've heard that people who are mad think they are perfectly sane…

Bloody hell.

Romilda pats my shoulder. "I have to leave now, to tell Harry the job is taken care of. Are you sure you can get home safely, Ginny?" she asks in a motherly tone. "I can Apparate you home if you can't handle it."

I shake my head. Oh my God. I've been _such_ a fool.

No wonder Harry and I have no Valentine's Day plans. Because we're not bloody _dating_.

Romilda smiles. "You're a wonderful girl, Ginny. I'm sure you'll find the right bloke for you—it's just not Harry Potter." With that she turns around and gets lost in the crowd.

That's just it—Harry _is_ the perfect bloke for me.

In my made up world, that is.

Oh, God. I'm going to have to be taken to a psychiatrist, won't I?

Oh no.

And even worse than that—I'm going to have to face Harry sometime. Merlin's beard.

My only consolation is that at least Harry will probably be under his Invisibility Cloak whenever there's a chance of me running in to him, so I won't have to really ever see him again.

And that's really no consolation at all.

* * *

"Ginny? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum. I'm only here to pick up Crookshanks. I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

"Ginny—have you been _crying_?"

"No, Mum. Honestly, why would I cry? C'mere Crookshanks."

"Ginny—"

"I'm _fine_, Mum. I'm going over to Ron and Hermione's now."

"Now, you wait—"

"Bye, Mum."

* * *

"Ginny!"

I jump up from the couch, startled. Ron's head is bobbing in the fireplace.

"You have to leave," he says.

"Why? I'm supposed to be taking care of Crookshanks."

"Just do it, please."

"Where am I supposed to _go_?" Honestly, I do something nice for them by taking care of their cat and this is how they repay me? "I told Mum and Dad I'd leave the Burrow for them tonight."

"Anywhere," Ron says. "Go stay with Luna, or Lavender... You just can't stay _here._"

"Why?"

"It's none of your business."

I glare at him. "Fine. I'm not leaving, then."

"Ginny—"

He's interrupted by the sound of somebody at the door.

I throw him a suspicious look. "Who's that?"

"No one!" He says quickly. _Too_ quickly, if you ask me.

Hmm.

I go toward the door, but it's opened before I reach it.

Sodding hell. It's Harry.

As soon as he sees me he pulls the door back to the frame, so that it's only slightly open. "G-Ginny," he stutters, "what are you doing here?"

God, I'm seriously hated by a greater being somewhere.

"I'm sorry, mate," Ron says from the fire. "I tried to get her to leave." With that, his face disappears from the flames.

Fantastic. Even my own brother knows that Harry is afraid of me and my madness.

"I'll be going then," I say. "Make sure you feed Crookshanks."

"You're leaving?"

I roll my eyes. "You don't have to act as if you care, you know. I'm not so delicate that I'll break with a simple 'Ginny, you're mad.'"

"What are you talking about?"

Is it really a mark of his kindness that he's trying to not hurt my feelings or is he really just a bit thick like Ron?

"Never mind." If he doesn't want to say anything I can't really complain, can I? Maybe I won't have to go to the psychiatrist after all. "I'll just leave."

"But I want you here."

All right, he's just being kind. I never actually thought he could be as thick as Ron, anyway.

"It's okay, Harry. You don't have to pretend."

"Have you gone _mad_?" Hmm. Now he really sounds confused. "Of course I'm not pretending! I want to be with you on Valentine's Day!"

Um, what?

"So now you remember Valentine's Day? Now that I know we're not actually dating?"

Harry looks extremely confused now. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

Um.

Okay.

"We're—we're not dating?" I mumble.

"We're not?" Harry looks taken aback.

That cow Romilda. That _liar_.

And _me_. I actually _believed_ her.

"You tell me," I finally say.

"As far as I bloody know, we are. Will you tell me what the bloody hell is going on—"

I open the door all the way and pull Harry inside by the front of his robes. I stand on the tip of my toes and kiss him passionately.

"Wow," I say. "It's nice being your girlfriend."

Harry grins and continues to snog me senseless. "I'm not even going to ask what just happened, but here."

He brings out a bouquet of roses from behind his back and thrusts them at me. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Merlin, this is exactly what I wanted—flowers and snogging.

"Thank you," I say, laughing. "I don't think this day can get any more perfect."

"I don't know about that," Harry says. He leans in to kiss me again but suddenly I hear a very distinct _meow_.

That was _so_ not Crookshanks.

"Why are you meowing?" I ask. Does he have a meowing disorder, or something?

Harry laughs. "That wasn't me," he says with a big smile on his face. He steps aside and the fattest tabby cat I've ever seen squeezes his way into the flat. I mean, Crookshanks is huge, but this cat is just _fat_. He has a small ginger face with beautiful hazel eyes.

"Merlin, is he for _me_?"

Harry nods, and his eyes are twinkling in delight, probably because I can't manage to wipe away the big smile on my face.

I pick up the tabby—with some difficulty—and he licks my hand with his raspy tongue.

"Look at his tag," Harry says, still smiling.

Oh my God. I can't believe this. Harry has named my new cat _Mr. Norris_.

"You—you remembered."

"Let's just hope he's nothing like his counterpart," Harry says.

"He won't be," I say happily. "Will you, Mr. Norris? "

I let him down and he rubs against my legs before heading off toward Crookshanks, who is sitting quietly by his food dish.

"Thanks, Harry," I say, before I wrap my hands tightly around him. My head lays comfortingly on his chest for a few seconds before something suddenly occurs to me. "So it was Mr. Norris who was meowing all along today?"

"Yes."

"And he was the bulge in your cloak?"

"Yes."

"How did you manage to fit all of him there?"

Harry laughs.

"Hang on," I say. "So you don't really have chest muscles that are so big they can move on their own?"

He laughs again. "No. And no, I really don't have a hippogriff tattooed on my chest."

I glower. Romilda Vane was probably the one who came up with that rumor. The cow. She had better hope I never see her again or I will curse her to the next century.

"Why was Ron so anxious that I leave," I ask.

"Oh. Well, he _knew_ I was dating someone—I just didn't tell him who. And I told him I wanted to surprise her for Valentine's Day, but I couldn't use my flat because the press would be watching it all day. Obviously he knows I don't want anyone to know, which was why he tried to get you to leave before I arrived."

Merlin, keeping this thing a secret is going to be pretty hard.

"Ginny?"

"Hmm?"

"I've been a little selfish," Harry says.

What? Harry, _selfish?_ I don't think so.

"That's impossible."

"No, really," he contradicts. "I said I didn't want you to have the press following you around, but really I'm just tired of them following _me_ everywhere. I haven't dated for a while now, so you can imagine the chaos that would ensue."

"That's all right, Harry."

"I think we should just let it out," he continues.

"What?"

"Face it, Ginny. I'm Harry _bloody_ Potter. The press is always going to be there, so I can't live my life trying to hide from it. Otherwise we can't ever go out on a simple date, I can't hold your hand in public, and you can't even tell your family…"

"I suppose…. This has got to be the most bizarre Valentine's Day ever."

"I don't know," Harry muses. "I remember my second year at Hogwarts—I got a talking valentine about my eyes being as green as a frog, or something…"

Oh, shit.

Um.

La-la-la-la-la-la-la…

"Ginny? Are you all right?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm perfectly fine…"

Perfectly fine…la-la-la-la-la…

Not a care in the world.

* * *

"What the bloody hell is this?"

"Ronald! Watch your language."

Ron has obviously seen the front page of this morning's _Prophet_, because he is fuming at the ears.

"Have you _seen_ this, Mum?" Ron asks. "Do you know what your daughter is doing with _Harry Potter_?"

Someone Apparates outside the Burrow, and a second later Harry rushes into the house.

"You!" Ron cries. "You've been dating my _sister_."

"I'm standing right here, Ron!" I shout. "You better not get involved, or I swear to Godric I will—"

"It's the Chosen Couple!" George says, appearing out of the fireplace. "Can I get some autographs?"

I glower at him.

"Ron—"

"No," Ron interrupts Harry. "_Traitor_. You were supposed to be my friend—"

"Oh, stop it, Ron," Hermione says, stepping out of the fireplace after George. "Ginny can make her own decisions. Obviously she's going to have a boyfriend sometime. Would you rather it be someone other than Harry?"

Ron calms down a bit at this, but he's still glaring at Harry. Mum, however, embraces Harry like a son, mumbling about how happy she is to have him in the family.

"_His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad_."

Oh. My. God.

This can't be happening to me.

Harry's eyes snap toward George, who has a malicious look in his eyes. "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" I desperately cry. "He didn't say anything!"

I shoot George a warning glare, but he ignores me.

"_His hair is as dark as a blackboard._"

I'm going to kill him. I'm going to _murder_ him with my bare hands.

Harry's looking back and forth from me to George, comprehension dawning on his handsome face.

"_I wish he was mine, he's really divine—"_

"SHUT _UP_, George!"

"_THE HERO WHO CONQUERED THE DARK LORD!_"

Harry's looking at me and his lips are twitching.

"Don't you dare," I warn.

"I wasn't going to," Harry says, his lips still twitching.

"I will deal with _you_ later," I tell George.

I walk outside for some air and Harry comes rushing after me. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind and whispers in my ear, "I'm really divine, am I?"

I try to elbow him, but he is expecting this, so he dodges out of the way.

"No, I really love it, Ginny," he says, nuzzling my throat. "At least, seven years later, after the embarrassment has worn off…"

"Oi!" Ron calls from inside the Burrow. "I'm watching you two!"

I turn around in Harry's arm and say, "Let's give him a show then, shall we?"

Harry laughs. "You are one beautiful, wicked witch."

Hmmm.

* * *

**AN: **I know technically Romilda should be in school, but she will still reappear in later chapters. Reviews would be uber great.


	6. Operation Destroy Romilda HagFace Vane

**

* * *

**

Disclaimer:

No, I don't own anything except the plot.

**AN:** I'm back... Sorry for the delay, I've just had so many things going on. But to make up for it, this is my longest chapter yet. There's some really foul language in some parts that account for the "T" rating--just a heads up. I've gotten a beta reader--Misty, or armywife012205--but I just wanted to get this chapter out to you guys as quickly as possible, so she hasn't proofed it yet. So all mistakes are my own and maybe next time I'll be more patient...

* * *

6. Operation Destroy Romilda Hag-Face Vane

So they know.

The world, I mean. They know about Harry and me.

They've known for a few days, actually, but the madness that erupted from this knowledge still has not ceased. I've been getting hundreds of letters either congratulating me on my "catch" or threatening ones from jealous witches who wish they were me.

That's right. People are jealous of _me_.

Of course, being the caring and protective (overly so, I might add) boyfriend that he is, Harry has actually tried to have Aurors follow me around in case some of these people carry out their threats. _Please_. If any one of these girls tried something, I'm sure I could take them out easily. In fact, Romilda Vane sent me a rather nasty owl about tearing my "bloody head off with a sodding drainpipe."

I'm not bothered by her threats, of course—especially since she has to resort to Muggle items for weapons—but I _am_ bothered by the fact that she sneaked out of school purely to try to break Harry and I apart. Firstly, how the bloody hell did she even find out about us? She must have been spying on Harry, or something, being the president of the sodding Harry Potter Fan Club. Maybe on a school trip to Hogsmeade she saw us together.

Whatever the case, she is very motivated.

Which is why I need a plan. A plan to destroy her.

Not literally, but that's not a bad idea either.

Hmm. I'm thinking Dungbombs. I'm thinking Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. I'm thinking Polyjuice Potion, Flesh-Eating Slugs—

"Ginny?" Harry says.

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

Because I can't just come out and say, "I'm coming up with a plan to destroy that bloody hag Romilda Vane who happens to be president of the sodding Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club and who is also trying to steal you away from me, probably with the help of her sodding minions because she could never actually be smart enough to even have me thinking all on her own that you'd rather be with her than me."

That would sound a little silly, I think. But it is totally true.

But I don't think Harry believes me. I know because he is giving me a look that clearly says, "I don't believe you."

He's staring at me expectantly, obviously waiting for me to answer truthfully. Oddly enough, Harry is always able to squeeze the truth out of me. I think I am always so dazzled by him that I never realize what I'm saying until the words are already out of my mouth. It's like it's impossible for me to lie to him.

Except for the obvious exceptions, of course. I mean—I'm not going to tell him that it was I who singing horribly in the garden last night or that I was the one who intercepted his owl to make sure Ron hadn't really sent him dirty facts about my obsession with him during my Hogwarts years. It's not like I hurt Aries, or anything. He was able to fly off perfectly well afterward.

So yes, I'm honest with Harry _most_ of the time. Or… at least _half_ of what comes out of my mouth to him is usually the truth. But that's a big improvement to how I am with my brothers. Honestly.

Anywho, I, dazzled by Harry, blurt out what I'm really thinking. "I'm coming up with a plan to destroy that bloody hag Romilda Vane who happens to be president of the sodding Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club and who is also trying to steal you away from me, probably with the help of her sodding minions because she could never actually be smart enough to even have me thinking all on her own that you'd rather be with her than me."

Harry chokes over his Butterbeer. Thank Merlin! He doesn't think I'm mad or anything. He's probably going to want to be part of my plan in taking out Romilda Vane. Probably he is already thinking up his own plans. I hope they include Flesh-Eating Slugs, though—

"Did you say _fan club_?"

I give him an annoyed glare. How can he be thinking about his stupid fan club when we need to be plotting?

"Yes," I answer testily. "Now can we _please_ get back to how we're going to—"

"But you said my _fan club!"_

I glare at him again. I don't believe this. "Did you even hear what I said, Harry?"

"Of course I heard!" he shouts.

"Other than 'fan club,'" I clarify.

"What else is there to hear? I have a sodding _fan club_—"

"You also have one very angry girlfriend," I interrupt. "I'm trying to destroy the forces that are trying to destroy _us_ and all you can think about are measly, unimportant things."

He is silent for a minute—probably going over my previous words—, and then he squeaks, "Romilda Vane?"

I smile. "She's trying to steal you from me."

"That's ridiculous, Ginny."

I glare at him. "You don't believe me? You don't trust _me?_ I'm always honest with you—"

Harry snorts. "Hardly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry shrugs. "Just that I know you aren't _always_ honest with me, or anyone else, for that matter."

"Name one—"

"I know you turned Percy's hair green two weeks ago and you denied it in front of your entire family _and_ you got them to believe it was Ron."

"Fine." I don't need him, the git. I have more resources. _Better_ resources. Resources that will get the job done properly.

I get up in a storm, and before I Disapparate, I add to Harry smugly, "It's only an _unofficial_ fan club, anyway."

"Do you have the Whiz-Bangs, Ginny?"

"Of course I have the Whiz-Bangs. Do you think I'm stupid?"

Lavender checks off the fireworks on her parchment. "I'm only trying to be thorough, Ginny," she says. "Do you want something to go wrong? Who has the Instant Darkness Powder?"

When no one answers, Lavender starts to panic. "No one? But I _know_ I assigned it to one of—Luna!"

Luna glances her way. "Yes?"

Lavender's eyes narrow. "Are you even paying attention?"

"Of course I am now," Luna calmly responds. "I wasn't a minute ago. There is an incredible number of Wrackspurts in your room, Ginny. Are you sure—"

"Luna," Lavender interrupts between gritted teeth. "Do—You—Have—The—Instant—Darkness—Powder?"

"Why, yes. Here it is."

Lavender checks it off in her list so hard that her quill breaks through the parchment. "Who has the Skiving Snackbox?"

"I do," Demelza answers from my bed, not taking her attention away from the newest edition of _Which Broomstick_. She sends the package flying through the air, which I easily snatch before it lands on the floor.

Playing Quidditch has trained me in the arts of snatching things out of thin air, which Demelza obviously knows since we played on the same team at Hogwarts. Lavender, on the other hand, does not realize how great my snatching-things-out-of-thin-air ability extends because she suddenly becomes furious.

"What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" she snaps. "Can't you pay attention for once? Will you put that bloody magazine away and actually _help_ me save Ginny's relationship with Harry?"

I feel like mentioning to her that _Which Broomstick_ is far better than what she reads (_Witch Weekly_—like that hag Romilda), but then she turns on the rest of us. She reaches Parvati first. Parvati has been paying attention to every syllable that's come out of Lavender's mouth, so I think it is a bit unfair that she should be made to feel uncomfortable, especially by her best friend.

"I suppose _you_ haven't mastered the Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Conjuring spell?"

"N-no, I have," Parvati answers timidly.

Hannah, Susan and I are spared Lavender's anger.

"Well, _I_," she starts haughtily, "like I promised, have managed to gather an extensive file on The Subject from various sources within and outside of Hogwarts—"

"You sound like Hermione," Demelza says.

I'm thinking this may not go over well with Lavender, since she prides in being very different from my sister-in-law, but she says, "At least _someone_ is being responsible. Seeing as we _don't_ have Hermione with us, _someone_ had to take the lead."

Hermione isn't taking part in our plot to destroy Romilda Vane because, like Harry, she believes that it is silly. _Silly!_ Honestly…

"The Subject in question occupies the farthest bed from the door in the Gryffindor Seventh Year Girls' Dormitory. Now, if we approach from the portrait hole—"

"How's that going to work?" I ask. "We don't have the password."

Lavender gives me a look that clearly says it should be obvious. "Parvati and I have numerous spies within Gryffindor Tower."

Of course.

Lavender continues to speak as if there had been no interruption. "As I was saying, if we approach from the portrait hole, we'll have to get through Filch a second time, since we'll first have to sneak in through the gates from Hogsmeade. If however, we approach The Subject from the Tower windows…"

I think it's a little funny when Lavender calls Romilda "The Subject." I always have to suppress my giggles. It's a little…_silly._

Not that Operation Destroy Romilda Hag-Face Vane is silly, but still.

"I still think we should use Polyjuice Potion," Susan says.

"We're not going to wait a _month_ to confront that hag!" Lavender shrills. "Besides, where would we get all the ingredients?"

"Neville could help," Hannah says, her cheeks getting a bit red as she mentions Neville. "He could get some of the plants—"

"Even so, we're not waiting a month."

I agree. In a month Romilda could try loads of things. It would have been nice to look like her allies and then make a surprise attack, but still.

"What if Romilda has something planned, too?" Parvati says. "Maybe she's waiting for us, or something."

"Yes, The Subject may be armed—"

I can't help it. A giggle escapes my lips.

Lavender's eyes snaps toward mine. "Is there something amusing you wish to share with the rest of us, Ginny?"

I shake my head. "No, nothing."

"How long do you reckon we have before Filch gets here?" I whisper to Demelza.

Demelza shrugs. "We have the advantage, since we rode brooms."

We've just gotten through the Hogwarts gates. Our plan went marvelously well. Luna cast Disillusionment Charms on all of us before we approached the gates from Hogsmeade, and then we let off the Instant Darkness Powder before Filch could notice us. After we were though the gates, we took off on our brooms toward the castle. Demelza and I are the only ones who have arrived since we are more experienced in riding.

It was actually very easy to slip past Filch, so it's a wonder Death Eaters didn't manage it themselves when Voldemort was in power. Of course, there were Aurors protecting the school then and everything, but still.

Five minutes later Luna, Lavender, Parvati, Hannah and Susan land beside us. The Disillusionment Charms are wearing off, so we're able to see each other.

Hannah and Susan tilt their heads up to look at Gryffindor Tower. They groan in unison.

"What?"

"It's just, it's a bit high," Susan says. "We're going to have to fly all the way up there?"

I roll my eyes. I'm sure Demelza is doing the same.

I look at Lavender, who has a look of dread splashed across her face. "This was your plan," I tell her. "You're not going to back out now, are you?"

"No!" she cries, as if the mere thought of quitting is ridiculous. "It's just, I'd forgotten how high up the Tower is…. Maybe we could just try to go in through the portrait hole."

I roll my eyes again. If there was a prize for eye rolling, I'm sure I could easily win it.

"How about Ginny and I go through the window and the rest of you come through the portrait hole?" Demelza suggests. "We haven't much time to spare, so it would be better if we started planting the traps now."

We all agree, so Demelza and I take off into the sky. We _Alohamora_ the window by Romilda's bed and fly into the room. At first I feel a great sense of nostalgia take over me, but then I notice newspaper clippings of Harry pinned on Romilda's wall. That hag!

"Come on, Ginny," Demelza whispers. "Let's get to work."

It's a good thing none of the girls are here. Probably they are at dinner, since they've just had a tiresome trip from Hogsmeade.

We work quietly for a few minutes, occasionally offering each other a few suggestions.

"No, no," I whisper. "You have to set that up _here_ so she doesn't see the pimples in the mirror."

"What do I set the Whiz-Bangs to go off to?"

"How about when she opens the frozen Howlers?" I say. "That'll be a good laugh, the look on her face. Too bad we won't be here to see it."

"I'm sure that won't matter," Demelza responds, snickering. She takes a mocking tone, mimicking Lavender. "I've got _loads_ of spies, Ginny. What _ever_ made you think—"

What made me think what, I didn't get to find out, because footsteps could be heard coming up the dormitory. Demelza and I dive under Romilda's bed. It could be Luna and the rest, but it could also be Romilda's minions.

We find out it is the latter, to which we are thankful we dove under the bed. Two girls come in, their pockets stuffed with sweets from Honeyduke's.

"…can't _believe_ she went as far as making Polyjuice Potion," the tallest of the two is saying. "Honestly, how much more obsessed can you get?"

The second girl empties her pockets on her bed. "That she even managed to snag a hair of Ginny's is what gets me."

I freeze at the mention of my name. Demelza glances at me in surprise.

Polyjuice Potion, my hair…oh _no. _This could only mean—

"Do you think Potter will fall for it? He won't notice the difference?"

The other girl shrugs, preparing to leave. "I'd be more worried if Ginny Weasley catches her. She's got a mad Bat-Bogey, I've heard…"

Their voices fade away as they exit the dormitory. My mouth is still gaping, I think.

A minute later, Luna, Lavender, Parvati, Hannah and Susan sneak into the dormitory. Demelza and I crawl from under the bed.

Lavender raises and eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Romilda's friends," Demelza answers. I'm still too shocked to say anything.

So Romilda made the potion, she's planning on going after Harry as me. That won't help _her_ case any, but she could definitely get some snogging time with Harry…or worse. What could she possibly get him to do?

Oh _no_.

Breathe, Ginny, I order myself.

There's no need to get nervous. Nothing will happen…absolutely nothing.

Only, something _could _happen.

Oh _no_. I'm imagining my lips on Harry's, only they are Romilda's lips. Oh. My. God.

I think I'm hyperventilating. Why isn't anyone doing anything? Help! I'm hyperventilating. I can't breathe! Help—

Wait a second. _Why_ am I getting anxious? I should be _angry_. No, I _am_ angry. That bitch-faced hag!

She's probably going after Harry today, since there won't be another Hogsmeade trip for a while and she won't get another chance to sneak out. That _hag_.

I will kill her, I will _murder_ her—

"That's a nice picture of Harry."

What? Nice picture? They are admiring a picture when it belongs to _her?_

"What are you guys doing?" I start, but then I notice what they are all huddled around. "_What are you _doing?"

Because it's not just a picture.

"_Don't touch that!"_

But it is too late. They all touch it. At once. In unison. Together.

I lunge at Luna in desperation and manage to grab her cloak. I feel the horribly familiar tug at my navel, and before I know it, we are all sprawled in the Great Hall. A thousand pair of startled eyes turn to look at us. Students have their mouths hanging open, some of them stuffed with half-chewed food.

"Oh," Luna says. "_That_ was the Portkey."

All the teachers are staring as well, still too stunned to do anything.

And then Lavender rips something off of her shirt—an envelope. Oh, sweet mother of Godric.

The envelope starts to smolder so Lavender drops it, a look of horror on her face. "Oops," she says.

"Demelza!" I shout. Everyone turns to look at me. "Your robes! You still have the Whiz-Bangs in your pockets!"

My screams are drowned out by the Howler, but Demelza seems to understand. She rips off her robes just in time. She throws them upward and they explode in mid-air with a loud _crack_.

_YOU FOUL, LOATHSOME CREATURE_, the Howler is screaming in Lavender's voice._ HOW _DARE_ YOU TRY TO STEAL HARRY POTTER FROM _OUR_ GINNY, YOU HAG. THIS BEGINS THE WAR…_

The Whiz-Bangs are exploding, adding even more noise to the already loud Howler. The fireworks have exploded into a little scene, which repeatedly shows me cursing Romilda Vane to smithereens.

…_AND THE HELIOPATHS WILL SURELY GET YOU_, Howler Luna is saying. _THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC HAS A SECRET DEPARTMENT MADE FOR THE TORTURE OF DARK WIZARDS, BUT I'M SURE THEY WILL MAKE SPACE FOR YOU ONCE THEY HEAR OF THE MANY OUTRAGEOUS THINGS YOU'VE DONE TO GET HARRY INTO YOUR SLITHERING GRASP…_

The entire school is forced into a shocked silence. The Howler and fireworks go on for another ten minutes, in which time everyone is frozen in their seats.

The Whiz-Bangs start to get smaller, and my Howler self finishes off with a resounding, "_WE WILL _CRUSH_ YOU, ROMILDA VANE."_

The silence is deafening. All eyes are on the seven of us.

And then, after what seems like an eternity, Filch bursts in through the door. We all turn our attention to him.

His hands are at his knees and he's bending down to catch his breath. "Intruders," he finally rasps out to McGonagall. "Intruders in the castle."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again, probably because I can feel McGonagall staring daggers in the back of my head.

Suddenly the students start muttering excitedly. I can see a few of them up close and they have awed expressions on their faces.

"It's her," someone mutters.

"Who?"

"Harry Potter's girlfriend, you dingbat!"

"No! Where?"

"Next to the blond with the funny necklace."

"Look, can't you see her freckles?"

"Can't you see her _hair_?"

"She's a Weasley."

"You mean…she's related to the Weasley twins?"

"No wonder she made such an entrance!"

"I heard her Bat-Bogey Hex caused a Slytherin to be in the Hospital Wing for two weeks."

"It was two _months_, you idiot."

"_I _heard if she kisses you you're instantly entranced—that's how she snagged Harry Potter."

"Shut up. You heard that from Rita Skeeter."

Oh, my God. I can't believe this. They're talking about _me_. I want to duck my head so they can't see me, because the staring is getting quite uncomfortable. No wonder Harry hates it.

McGonagall seems to have finally come around to her senses, because she stands up and says loudly, "You seven. In my office. _Now._"

Oh, fantastic. We're getting detention, aren't we? She'll probably make us scrub the boys' lavatories with toothbrushes, or something…

Hang on. We don't even attend Hogwarts anymore. We can't get detention.

Can we?

"I cannot believe that you seven, of all people, would pull something like this," McGonagall says.

She's pacing her office and we're standing still. It's like animals. Maybe if we don't make any sudden movements she won't pounce.

"I _never_, in all my years—"

I suppress the urge to point out that she probably _has_, in all her years, since she had to put up with Fred and George for almost seven years. Not to mention the countless stories I've heard about Harry's father and his friends during _their_ Hogwarts years.

So yes, she probably has witnessed for worse than today. I mean, take that night during fourth year when Fred and George escaped Umbridge. You can't really go worse than that. I may be a Weasley, but I'm not _those_ Weasleys.

"…Ms. Robins, I expected much better from you," McGonagall tells Demelza sternly. "And Ms. Abbott! I _never_ would have thought that _you_ would tangle yourself up in something like this. What has gotten into that mind of yours?"

My hand involuntarily twitches—bloody hand!—and McGonagall turns her steely gaze on me.

"Ah. Ms. Weasley," she says in a voice that frightens me more than Moldywarts ever could. "What am I thinking? _You_ got into her. You, I am willing to believe, could very well carry out something like this. I assume you planned everything?"

"W-well, yes."

Because I can't just come out and reveal that I just went to Lavender for advice and _she_ figured out all the details. I'm not a snitch, and Lavender is my friend, no matter how annoying and Fleur-like she can seem at times. Besides, the whole operation was done for my benefit, so it's only fair that I take the blame.

"Very well," McGonagall says. "I shall be writing to your parents. I am correct in assuming you all still live at home?"

We all hang our heads and mutter what seems to be a dooming "Yes."

Operation Destroy Romilda Hag-Face Vane: Failed.

"Now, as I understand it, Ms. Weasley, you are claiming that Ms. Vane tried to…steal Mr. Potter from you?"

Oh, God. Why is she even bringing this up? This is so embarrassing. And Romilda is probably snogging Harry's brains out right now, or something. Ugh. I won't be there to stop them.

"Yes, Professor."

"Mr. Potter hasn't been anywhere near the castle for quite some time," she says. "How could Ms. Vane have done anything that would seem…threatening to you?"

Lavender immediately jumps at the question. "She sneaked—"

"She sent letters," I interrupt. Like I said, I'm not a snitch. She'll be in so much trouble if she were found out about sneaking out, and she's a Gryffindor, anyway. If she'd been a Slytherin, things would be different. "What Lavender means is that she sneaked letters to Harry, asking that he date her instead of me…"

Lavender shoots me a look, but I ignore it.

McGonagall doesn't look like she believes me, but she doesn't press the matter. "Very well," she says. "Off you go. Argus will escort you off of school grounds."

"Professor—our brooms," Demelza says. "W-we left them."

"You may collect them before you leave. Now go before I change my mind and you lot receive detention for a month."

"You _covered_ for her?" Lavender cries as soon as we're in Hogsmeade and Filch has stopped shooting us evil looks and has headed back to the castle. "You actually covered for her!"

"I'm not a snitch!"

"_You_ may not be but _I_ am," she says. "I could have easily told McGonagall everything!"

"Stop it, the both of you," Susan says. "There's nothing we can do anymore, anyway."

"Well, I'm just saying the operation was an entire failure," Lavender says. "We could have at _least_—"

"It wasn't a failure," Demelza says, grinning. "In the morning Romilda should be waking up with a nice array of acne on her face…"

I almost laugh, but I'm still too anxious about what Romilda may be doing with Harry. I express this feeling to them, and also the thought that Romilda asked Harry to come to Hogsmeade today.

"So they are still here," Parvati says. "But where?"

"The inn," I say immediately.

Demelza looks surprised. "Oh, has your relationship with Harry gone that far already?"

"No!" I say quickly, my cheeks turning redder than usual. "It's just, you never know what Romilda may be up to."

"Hogwarts students aren't allowed in the inn," Hannah puts in. I'm wondering how she knows this.

"I agree with Gin," Lavender says. "I'm sure if Harry Potter wants to get into that inn, they're not going to deny him, no matter who he's with. Besides, he'll be with _you_, Ginny. At least everyone thinks it's you."

This does not make me feel any better.

"He's not at the inn," Demelza says. "I'm sure if your relationship hasn't progressed to that level yet, he's not going to…do anything in an _inn_."

"But Lavender agrees—"

"When it comes to boys, Lavender is just as loony as Luna," Demelza says. "No offense, Luna."

"None taken," Luna says cheerfully.

"I think they are at Madam Puddifoot's," Susan says. "It seems like somewhere Romilda would go."

So we quickly make our way to the little shop. Sure enough, Harry is in there, looking uncomfortable, with _me_. Or, Romilda. Romilda/me.

Merlin, this is confusing.

At least Romilda's/my hair looks fantastic. I mean, if Harry is going to see _me_, then he might as well see the pretty side.

But still, that's _Romilda!_ I grit my teeth.

"What's wrong?" Luna asks.

"My hair looks wonderful."

"Well, yes, it does. That's nothing to be angry about."

"No, she means _Romilda's _Ginny hair," Lavender says. "But don't worry, Ginny. The real you looks much more fantastic than that poseur."

That may be the nicest thing Lavender has ever said to me.

"Let's go in," I say.

"No!" Lavender cries. "We have to spy a little, see what The Subject has told Harry."

So we hide behind the bushes. Luckily Parvati brought Extendable Ears for all of us, so we carefully slide them under the crack of the door and maneuver them toward Harry and Romilda's table.

"…darling Harry!" Romilda is saying. "C'mere, let Gin-Gin give you a kiss-kiss."

Ugh! I make retching noises and pretend to be sick. God! If I didn't know that this would be the kind of thing Romilda herself would say, I'd think she was doing this to get Harry so disgusted that he'll break up with me.

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—Harry really does look disgusted.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" He questions, leaning away from Romilda's "kiss-kiss." "You seem…different than normal."

Yes! He knows! Or, at least he doesn't think I'm me being myself.

"Oh, darling! Different is good. If you stay the same—or with the same people for too long—you can begin to get bored sometimes, my Harry-poo."

Merlin's beard. The word "Harry-poo" has come out of my mouth. It's not me, but it _is_ me.

"I have to go in," I whisper madly. "I'm not going to let her say those things with _my_ mouth!"

"No! Let's listen a bit longer."

"Do you mean you want to split up?" Harry asks. He looks hopeful.

Oh, God. What if he has wanted to split up for ages? What if he's already been planning to break up with me, and tonight he thought he'd do it? What if he's not repulsed by _Romilda_ me but by _me_ me?

Oh, God.

This is just peachy. Bloody, sodding peachy...

"Why would you think that, darling?" Romilda asks, and then a torch seems to go off in her head. "I mean—maybe I do…. I'm sorry, poochie. It's just, I feel like we've grown apart. I don't feel us in my heart anymore. In fact, I never did. You were just so handsome, and when you expressed your interest in _me_, of all people…. You're Harry Potter, dear. How _could_ I resist?"

That bitch. I want to go in there and slap her into the next century.

Lavender realizes this, so she grabs hold of my arm, her sharp nails digging through my robes and into my skin.

"Ouch, Lav—"

"Shush, Ginny!"

She is too into this. It's like a Muggle soup opera to her, isn't it?

She realizes what I am thinking because I shoot her a look that says, "You're too into this. It's like a Muggle soup opera to you, isn't it?"

"I'm only trying to discover what Harry thinks of you and your relationship," she defends. "You should be paying even more attention than I. And it's _soap_ opera, not soup."

"I _was_ thinking soap."

"No, you weren't."

I make a very childish face when she turns her back, but listen to Romilda and Harry's conversation again. Luckily I haven't missed anything since Harry's had his jaw dropped for the past ten seconds, speechless.

"So…so you only dated me because I'm _me_?" he finally stammers. "Because I'm _bloody_ Harry Potter?"

Romilda nods, a smile playing at her lips. "I'm so sorry—"

"I don't _fucking_ believe this."

Romilda looks frightened for a moment. "You don't?"

I roll my eyes. Honestly, how thick can she get?

Harry slams his fist down on the table, startling Romilda/me and the few other costumers in the little shop. "You've been playing me all along?"

"I'm so sorry, Harry. You're a great bloke, you deserve someone better."

Someone better? I just saved her arse from McGonagall's wrath and she's here trying to steal _my_ boyfriend and she still thinks she's better?

What a hag-face.

"But you were different," Harry says, so quietly now I can barely hear his voice in the Ear. "You didn't care that I am who I am. That's why I liked you. The first day we met…you ran into me, and I could tell you recognized me but you didn't act any different. You were…normal. Around _me_. That's why I liked you, why I fell in…"

The seven of us are huddled together anxiously, waiting desperately for him to say the L word. But his voice carries off and he doesn't mutter it.

And then Harry looks at Romilda/me with a look of sorrow splashed across his face. Romilda can barely contain her excitement. She's probably waiting for him to end the relationship right then and there.

She reaches into her robes and pulls out a flask. It's the potion! I can't let her take another swallow!

I make to stand up but Lavender holds me down, staring pointedly at Harry. I look back at him and realize he's about to say something. Romilda's hand freezes on the cap of her flask as she realizes the same.

"But you're no different. You were only pretending. You're a fake, a poseur."

I can't wait anymore. I rip my arm away from Lavender's deathly grasp and run into the shop. Harry and Romilda look up at the noise.

"That she is," I say, my voice cold.

Half a dozen emotions seem to pass across Harry's handsome features. First he looks confused, then relieved, then confused again, then angry, and then he takes on his Auror look. (Which is very sexy, I might add.)

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he asks, pulling out his wand in one quick motion.

The rest of the customers are startled, so he reassures them, "It's all right. I'm an Auror."

_He's only in training_, I think with a roll of my eyes.

Harry sees this eye-rolling and his lips involuntarily start to smile, as if he knows what I am thinking. Then he realizes that he's almost smiling so he quickly scowls.

Romilda has a look of fear on her face because she knows she's caught.

"I said," Harry commands, "tell me what's going on."

"I'll tell you!" cries a voice from behind me. Lavender steps into the shop, her eyes smoldering. "That _hag_ over there is trying to steal you from Ginny."

"Lavender?" Harry squeaks. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you from _her_," Lavender says with a dark look at Romilda/me.

She nods to the others, so they all come inside and pile around us.

"Hi, Harry," Luna says cheerfully. "How are you today?"

"Er…a bit confused, actually."

I can tell Harry doesn't know if we are all the originals of ourselves or if we're Dark wizards pretending to be teenage girls trying to sabotage his horrible date with his equally horrible girlfriend.

"Oh," Luna says with a wave of her hand. "It's the Wrackspurts. They have a certain attachment to Ginny."

This wild and Luna-like comment seems to convince Harry that she is in fact who she is. Then he looks at me and says, "So…you're really my Gi—you're really Ginny?"

I smile at his almost "my Ginny" comment. "Yes."

"Then who is _she_?"

Romilda starts to uncap her flask in desperation so I Apparate by her side and snatch it away just before she can bring it to her lips.

"She is Romilda Vane and this_,_" I say, holding up the flask, "is Polyjuice Potion. With my hair, obviously."

Harry is looking in horror at Romilda.

"It's not true!" she cries. "I'm just sick and I need my cough potion."

"I don't hear you coughing," Demelza says smugly.

"That's because I've taken my potion, you dingbat!"

But at the word "dingbat," Romilda's voice becomes very strange. I realize it was a cross between her real voice and my own, which is fading as quickly as she is turning into the real Romilda. Her eyes take a darker color and her hair is rapidly turning from flaming red to a really dark shade of brown. Her cheekbones and nose change shape, and then as quickly as I am sitting there, Romilda Hag-Face Vane is.

Harry looks stunned. Finally he manages to say to Hag-Face, "But I _kissed_ you."

"You did _what?" _Lavender and I shout.

He realizes what he's just said in front of me, his girlfriend. "Well, I thought she was _you_, Ginny! Don't take this out on me! Besides, it was just a little peck of greeting, like I _always_ greet you. What was I supposed to say? 'I'm sorry, Gin, but I know you're not really Ginny so you won't be getting a kiss today'?"

Romilda smirks, as if to say, "It was _so_ not just a peck."

"You!" Lavender screams. "Don't you smirk at Ginny like that, you hag! If I were you I'd head back to the castle before McGonagall realizes you're missing. That is, if you can get through the gates. You didn't think you'd have to go back did you? Thought you'd go home with Harry…"

Romilda takes off out of Madam Puddifoot's, avoiding Harry's gaze.

Operation Destroy Romilda Hag-Face Vane: Accomplished.

Lavender looks pleased. "My job here is done. The Subject has been detained. Harry, you have passed my Acceptable Boyfriend Material Test. Let's go girls, let's leave the reunited lovebirds to their fates…"

Harry looks even more confused as they all Disapparate away. "The Subject?"

"It's a long story," I say with another roll of my eyes. Seriously, I could so win that prize.

"I've got time," he says, placing a few Sickles on the table and leading me out into the cool night air.

I grin. "Well, I think I'd be more comfortable at your flat, cuddled together on the couch…"

"As long as it's not with Romilda Vane," he says with a shudder. "You were right about her…"

"I'm always right, my Harry-poo," I say in mocking tone.

Harry's face scrunches up with disgust. "Ginny, I never want to hear that word out of your mouth again. I swear, I was just about to break up with you when I heard that."

I laugh. "I know, I was listening."

"You were—"

"Listening, yes. With the Extendable Ears."

"And you didn't come to my recue earlier?"

"It wasn't _my_ fault," I cry in defense. "Lavender was squeezing her Death Nails into my skin because she wanted to listen more, apparently to see if you were acceptable boyfriend material, but I totally know it was because she wanted to see more drama, like on Muggle soup operas."

"Soap."

"Whatever. Who calls a felitision program a _soap opera_, anyway? Do they have soaps singing horribly, or something?"

"Who would call it a _soup_ opera?" Harry asks, laughing. "Only you." He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. "Only you, my Ginny."

I smile. _His_ Ginny. I'm all his.

Harry leans down to kiss me softly. As I feel his wondrous lips caressing my own, I cannot help but think that he definitely wasn't kissing Romilda the Poseur like this.

No, this kiss he saved for me, his Ginny. Because I'm all his, and he's all mine. _My_ Harry.

Mmm.

Operation Fall in Love with Harry Amazing Potter: Accomplished.

**Molly: **Reviews?

**READ ME: **I've got vague ideas about the next chapter right now, but I know it's going to be something involving Harry and Ginny being caught in very compromising positions. I've set up a poll on my profile where you can vote where exactly they are caught (e.g. bed, couch). I'll write whatever the majority votes, unless I get writer's block and have to move on to another object. So go vote! But review first...


	7. Of Butter Dishes and Dress Robes

For Duckie, who taught me the proper pronunciation of 'shite,' and also a few more words that are either gibberish or too obscene to be allowed.

And also for all of you who have been waiting nearly a year for this chapter.

Yeah.

Sorry about that. Hope this makes up for it.

* * *

7. Of Butter Dishes and Dress Robes

Have I ever mentioned that I loathe butter dishes? Well, I do.

They are positively _evil_.

Why, you may ask, do I despise these innocent, inanimate objects that do nothing but innocently house one of the world's most beloved animal by-products, a creamy, golden substance so often referred to as "butter"?

Firstly, there is a slight chance that they are not altogether "inanimate," as it were. This is the Wizarding world, after all. I've seen fireworks mate with each other and drunken house-elves running around in tutus. It is not altogether unlikely that butter dishes could in fact be evil souls hiding behind so-called "innocent" disguises until they are ready to unleash their creamy evil upon the world.

Which leads me to my second point.

Butter dishes, contrary to popular belief, are hardly innocent bystanders. I've been the subject of numerous torture at the hands (if they had hands) of these cruel kitchenware. I first suspected the evilness in them a few years back, at the Gryffindor table during breakfast.

It was my fifth year, and I was staring at Harry Potter, who was sitting a little ways down the table. He was the most gorgeous person I'd ever seen. Not that I still had a crush on him. I was totally over him at that time.

Anyway.

He was bloody handsome. The way his raven hair fell across his dazzling emerald eyes; the way he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose with the tip of his finger; the way he ran his hands through his hair when he was frustrated about something…God, how I wanted to run my own hands through those thick, black locks…

I was suddenly angry as I watched him pick through his breakfast, all alone. Why did he have to be so alone? I suppose everyone would want to be friends with him, but that's probably the reason he _had_ no friends. If I had been in his position, I doubt I would have been able to trust that other people didn't want to be associated with me just because of my fame.

It was just not _fair._

Harry looked up from his nearly untouched plate, probably sensing that someone was watching him, and those dazzling eyes of his connected with mine. He looked at me inquiringly, his concentrated gaze bringing butterflies to my stomach. And before I could look away, I did it.

Or, the _butter dish_ did it. I swear, it must have moved on purpose, because one minute it was ten feet away and the next it was right under my elbow. Which is how I came to stick my elbow in the butter dish.

I didn't notice the unique position my elbow was in until I heard loud laughter. I finally turned away from Harry and looked into the faces of my friends, who were howling with laughter at my little accident. It wasn't my fault, all right! It was the bleeding butter dish!

I turned away with a scowl, only to have my eyes land on Harry' face again. And he was _grinning_ at me. Instead of piecing together the fact that he was laughing at me, too, I just stared at his sparklingly white, perfect teeth.

And then I stuck my other elbow into the butter dish.

Which goes to show that the butter dish somehow moved on its own, since I didn't place it in any such way that my other elbow could have landed on it.

Since then, I've despised butter dishes. There have been several other occasions when butter dishes have gotten the better of me, all of them somehow related to Harry Potter. After the third incident, I swore to never have _anything_ to do with butter dishes. I was doing pretty well on this promise to myself.

Until today.

It all started with the Second Annual Ministry of Magic Gala to Celebrate the Downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, also known as SAMOMGCDHWMNBN. But a whole bunch of us call it Potter's Victory Dance, since Harry was the one who kicked Voldemort to the bucket. You know—Harry Potter. My boyfriend.

Yeah.

Anyway, the gala was created a year ago supposedly to celebrate everyone who helped defeat Voldemort, but everyone knows the real purpose is to make Harry give a speech. This means loads of reporters will be on the scene snapping photographs and trying to get a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived.

Obviously, the gala is Harry's least favorite thing in the whole world. He said it even beats that time when his aunt tried stuffing him in his cousin's horrid sweater, _plus_ getting chased through the Forbidden Forest by hundreds of vicious acromantulas.

I feel the same. I mean, hours wasted getting ready for the dance isn't my idea of a perfect day. Although, they do have quite good food at the gala. And there's always really famous wizards walking around shaking people's hands. Plus the little goody bags they gave us last year were really great. They were little Harry Potter figurines who kept blowing the brains off some evil dark lord.

Okay, so I don't hate it. But still.

I _would_ hate it if I were Harry. I mean, he has to write a bloody speech!

Plus, there was the whole Butter Dish Incident, which I wouldn't exactly describe as a walk in the park.

But more of that later. My troubles started way before The Incident.

It was this morning, actually, when everything started to fall apart. I was trying on my dress robe, just to make sure it fit right. Normally I'm not some brainless, giggly girl who cares about how her clothes look, right down to the last piece of thread, but this was not normally. This was _Harry's ball_. I had to look marvelous.

The dress robe I'd picked out was wonderful. It was long and elegant, with an open back. The best part was the royal blue color. It went perfectly with my hair.

I slipped it on, and did a little twirl. Did I mention the dress robe was long? Yeah. So, since I wasn't wearing my heels yet, you can guess what happened. I tripped on the hem and fell flat on my face, my hair forming a wild mane around me.

_Oh shite, _I thought. Because I had just heard a distinct tearing sound. Usually, those sounds mean that something has torn. This time was no exception.

There was a large rip at the bottom that not even a good _Reparo_ would be able to fix. I was beginning to panic. My mum would probably be able to fix it, but she was so stressed already that I didn't want to bother her.

Maybe Hermione—

No, she'd just go on and on about how "this is why we pay attention during class, Ginny. Haven't I told you over and over again? ..."

Please. Like anyone ever needs that stuff.

Er. Not counting situations like these.

Anywho.

I was saved from having to throw myself at Hermione's mercy a moment later when Mum called me from downstairs.

"Yeah?" I answered, poking my head into the kitchen, trying to hide the tear in the dress robe.

"What are these?" Mum asked, four boxes reading "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions" sitting at the kitchen table. "They're addressed to you."

At that point, I started inwardly hyperventilating, my thoughts completely out of focus. The first words that popped out of my mouth were "I've never seen those in my life!"

Which was so totally true. I'd never seen those boxes before, had I? I didn't matter that I had a pretty good idea what I'd find inside.

Anyway, this was obviously the wrong thing to say because Mum started opening one of the boxes, saying, "Well, maybe it was supposed to go to someone in the village."

"No!" I cried, lunging across the room to take the boxes.

Too late. Mum had the box open and was fishing out a short, yellow dress robe from inside. "What's this?"

If I recall properly, my response was: "Eek!"

"Ginny!" Mum said, looking at the tag. "These are your exact measurements!"

"R-really? How odd."

She opened the next box and gasped as she pulled out another dress robe, this one long, silver, and glittery.

"This also is your size."

"Hmmmmmmm."

She brought out a slinky black dress robe from the next box, which also happened to be my perfect fit.

From the final box came a long, green, silk dress robe. Mum was silent as she looked at the measurements. She said nothing for a full minute, twenty-three seconds, and forty-one milliseconds.

You know those times when your mum catches you doing something so extremely horrible that you want to pull out each individual hair on your arms and then drown yourself in a bucket of hot dragon dung just to not have to listen to the painful silence because said mother is so furious and disappointed in you that she has absolutely nothing to say, but then the silence isn't so bad when you think about how horrible it would be if she were actually screaming at you for the whole Wizarding world and maybe a third of the Muggle world to hear?

Well.

This was not one of those times.

I think my eardrums will never be the same after this morning. Mum was screaming so loudly you'd think it was a Howler.

"YOU BOUGHT FIVE DRESS ROBES?! _FIVE! GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"_

"I didn't _buy_ them, per se—"

"WHAT WERE YOU _THINKING? _WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO FIND THIS TYPE OF MONEY?"

"I'll be able to pay Gringotts the money they loaned me in a jiffy, Mum—"

God, it wasn't _that_ big of a deal. The final tryouts for the Harpies were last weekend and I made the team. Gwenog Jones said that I could become a starting player in just a couple of months if I try hard enough. I'll be raking in the Galleons then, and I'll be able to buy hundreds of millions of dress robes.

"BUT WHY ON EARTH DO YOU NEED _FIVE_ DRESS ROBES? _FIVE!"_

Why did she keep repeating that? It's not like five is a big number. I could have bought a _hundred_ dress robes. Or even a thousand. She should've actually been glad that I _only _bought five. There were another few dress robes I was also dying to buy, but I resisted the urge. She should have been _proud._

"_Because_," I said. "I had to be prepared if something went wrong. Look at the one I'm wearing: there's already a tear at the hem."

So there.

"So you bought _five_ of them."

Ugh! She was looking at this the wrong way. See, I knew loads of Quidditch superstars would be at the SAMOMGCDHWMNBN, and I was planning on making a big impression. This meant that I couldn't be running around in tattered dress robes. I need to look smart to make a good impression. So really, these dress robes were an investment in my _future_.

"Well, there are loads of things that can go wrong," I reasoned. "I could spill a drink on one of the robes, or fall into a lake, or get attacked by acromantulas—I hear they get very ravenous during spring—"

"_Ginevra."_

Whenever Mum whispers my name like that, I know I'm in big trouble.

"Y-yes?"

"You will return all of these to Madame Malkin's _immediately."_

"Okay," I said, nodding obediently. "I'll go there tomorrow—"

"Today."

"But her shop won't be open—she's not going to miss Harry's Victory Dance for anything."

"Then you will take them all with you to the ball and you will return them there."

"How do you expect me to carry all that?"

"I figured you had that all planned out," she said, smirking—Mum _never _smirks, by the way. "Weren't you planning on bringing all of them along in case something goes 'wrong'?"

The only thing I could think was "Fudge."

Not the ex-Minister of Magic, by the way.

In case you were wondering.

Anywho.

Because no, I hadn't thought of that. I mean, I had bigger things to worry about!

Mum left the kitchen, leaving me alone with all the dress robes. And I swear, I was going mad because it was like they were giving me admonishing looks.

"Don't you guys start too!" I yelled. And then I realized I probably sounded like a nutter, so I clamped my hands over my mouth. Grabbing the dress robes, I went up to my room and started thinking of a way to take them all with me to the ball.

* * *

Hours later, I still had no idea what I was going to do. I'd tried on all the robes, and after long consideration I decided to wear the green one to Harry's Victory Dance.

Don't give me that look.

What was I supposed to do—wear the torn one to the ball? This is the _biggest_ event of the year. The only people in the world who weren't going were Bill and Fleur, because their daughter was born today. But they still honored the event by naming her Victoire.

So I have nothing to feel ashamed about.

And besides, the green dress robe would match Harry's eyes. His amazing, lovely, emerald eyes…that were staring right at me!

"Omigod!"

"Calm down, Ginny!" Harry said from the other end of the two-way mirror. "It's only me." For some reason his words sounded a little slurred.

"I _know _it's you," I said, taking long breaths. "You just gave me a fright, that's all."

Harry gave me this mirror a month or so ago, but I still haven't mastered its usage. It _sounds_ simple—"Just say my name"—but it's not. It's more than just saying someone's name. There's other stuff involved, like…other stuff.

But anyway.

"Sorry about that," Harry said. "It's just—"

"You sound weird," I interrupted. "Are you all right?"

"About that," he responded. "Can you come to my flat, please? I'm having a little dilemma."

"I'm not doing so great either," I said. "I've got some problems of my own."

"Well, why don't you come over here and we can work them out together?"

That sounded pretty good. Plus I was pretty sure there would be snogging involved.

And, you know—other girlfriend/boyfriend stuff. Like talking, and helping each other solve our problems.

Yeah.

"Okay, then," I said. "I'm bringing Mr. Norris."

Okay, I have a confession to make. I think Mr. Norris loves Harry more than me.

It's true.

Whenever Harry is around he's always springy and doing things like chasing his tail, but when Harry leaves, he's his normal, lazy, fat self.

Of course, I'm never going to tell Harry this. He'd just get even more arrogant.

Throwing all the dress robes into one large bag, I picked up Mr. Norris with my other hand and Apparated outside Harry's flat.

Harry opened the door to let me in, already wearing his own dress robe. Mr. Norris immediately tangled himself through Harry's legs.

"You look fantastic, Ginny," Harry said, kissing me.

Hmm. See, I knew there would be sno—

I stopped my train of thought as I took in the taste of Harry's lips and the two empty bottles of firewhisky that were lying on the kitchen table.

"Harry Potter!" I cried. "Have you been _drinking_?"

"No!" After taking in my admonishing look, he ratified his statement: "Maybe? Yes."

"You're drunk!"

"Only a little," he said, closing the door behind me.

"But you have to give a speech in just a few hours! In front of the _entire Wizarding world_, practically."

Harry's eyes glazed over at "entire Wizarding world." He fell on his couch and laid his face in his hands.

"I know, I know!" he said. "That's what I've been trying to figure out the whole damn day."

"How you're going to speak to thousands of people when you're completely zonked, you mean?"

"No," he said. "I have to figure out _what_ I'm going to say before I have to worry about that."

Okay. Last week, I specifically asked Harry if he was ready for his speech. And you know what he told me? No, you don't know, so I will tell you. This is what he told me:

"_I've got it all covered, Ginny, don't worry."_

Exactly.

Which is why I was pissed. I mean—what kind of person lies to his girlfriend?

Have _I _ever lied to him?

Well.

We weren't talking about me, were we?

Anyway.

"You told me you were ready!"

"Well, I'm not!"

"So what are you going to do now?" I ask, sitting down next to him.

"I don't know. Can we just run away, Ginny?"

This, coming from the Chosen One?

"Harry," I said, sighing. "You defeated Voldemort. You even set yourself up to die just to protect us. That must have taken immense courage. And now you want to run away? From silly little reporters?"

"But that's just it," he said, getting up and taking out another bottle of firewhisky from a cupboard. "They're hardly 'little' and—hey!"

Because I had just grabbed the firewhisky from his hand. "You _are_ not drinking anymore. As your girlfriend, it is my duty to get you to this ball in one shape."

He was still looking the firewhisky. After a second of silence, he pleaded, "Can't I just have one more sip?"

"No."

He stumbled back to the couch, groaning. "This is useless, Ginny. I'm never going to get that speech ready in time."

"Don't be so sure," I said, a brilliant idea popping into my head. "I have a brilliant idea."

"You do?"

"Yes. You're simply going to say the same thing you said last year."

"That's your brilliant idea?"

I didn't like that tone. "What? Do you have a better idea?"

"How the hell am I supposed to remember what I said last year? I don't think I even wrote the bloody speech!"

"So why didn't someone else write it this time?"

"Probably because they want me to suffer," he said, adding darkly, "buggers."

"Look, Harry," I began. "This is going to be really simple. It can't be that hard to remember last year's speech. Now, go get a piece of parchment and some ink, and we'll have it ready in minutes."

Harry looked doubtful, but he got up and went in search of parchment, grabbing chairs and walls on the way for support.

God, what was I going to do? He was completely zonked, and there was no way I'd be able to make a Sobering Potion in the little time we had. I just had to make sure he didn't get so drunk that he'd go up to the stage starkers, or something.

_Oh, bugger_, I thought. We were in a load of trouble. Uncorking the bottle of firewhisky, I took a little sip. Just a little.

You know—to calm my nerves and all. Because I needed to be calm if I was going to help Harry. It was the logical thing to do.

Harry came stumbling back to the couch, parchment and ink in his hands. "Now what?"

"Now you just think of exactly where you were and how you were feeling last year," I said wisely.

"I felt like I wanted to puke."

"Good, good," I said. "You see—we're making progress. Now, there were probably loads of people staring at you, and probably hundreds of photographers were snatching pictures of you—"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding enthusiastically. "And Kingsley introduced me, and he magically magnified my voice as I stepped on stage—"

"See? I told you we'd get somewhere!" I cried, proud of my work. "Now write everything you remember saying on this piece of parchment."

"Okay."

Harry took the parchment and ink and began to hastily scribble words on it. I could tell he was still drunk because the quill kept on moving off course. Finally, after a few minutes of writing and scratching off mistakes, he put down his quill and said, "Okay, this is all I can remember."

"Well, at least it's a start," I said, sitting up importantly. "Read it to me—and make it convincing, like you're speaking to the entire world. Have poise, charisma, elegance!"

"Poise, charisma, elegance…" Harry muttered, taking large breaths. "Okay, here I go." He took another large breath, and began: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

He sat there looking at me with a look of pride on his face.

"Well?" I said. "Go on."

"What do you mean? That's all I have."

I stared at him in silence, my jaw dropped. Finally I said, "But what in the world have you been writing all this time then?"

"Well, I had to figure out if I was going to add 'My name is Harry Potter.' I couldn't remember if I did last time, but if I did, it would be a bit pointless, don't you think? But then I don't want people thinking that I think they all know who I am, because then I'll just look like a big prat…"

I was silent again for another minute, contemplating the situation.

"Shite."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

I uncorked the bottle of firewhisky and took a large swig, feeling the steam coming out of my ears. I passed the bottle to Harry, who copied my actions.

"Mega shite."

"Yeah."

"Harry, I think we're going to need another few bottles of firewhisky.

Stumbling over to his cupboard, he said, "My sentiments exactly."

* * *

Okay, we didn't mean to get pissed. It just happened. These things happen all the time. It's like getting caught in the rain without your wand. There's absolutely nothing you can do to not get soaked. This is exactly like that, because, well…

Just because.

So obviously, it wasn't our fault. After our first bottle of firewhisky, Harry and I just couldn't resist having another. I mean—what would you have done? It was our only choice, obviously. It was either show up to the ball completely sober and witness Harry's non-existent speech with a sinking feeling of humiliation, or show up and not have a bleeding clue what anybody is talking about.

Anybody would have picked the latter.

Besides, Harry and I had it all worked out. We put Silencing Charms on ourselves, so that we wouldn't randomly blurt out some nonsense and get Mum screaming at us for being irresponsible.

Correction—screaming at _me_. She's so taken with Harry that I don't think she'd notice if he were chucking dungbombs right and left completely in the buff.

Which, considering his current level of intoxication, wasn't all that unlikely.

But anyway, apart from the whole drunken stupor mess, the afternoon wasn't all that bad. Harry figured out a neat little spell that allowed me to put all my dress robes inside my tiny little purse, and I—even a wee bit drunk—managed to get my hair to look halfway decent in a messy bun on top of my head. As a matter of fact, I looked quite brilliant, if I do say so myself. I chose to wear the long green dress, which matched Harry's handsome eyes perfectly.

Harry himself looked amazing, but this was normal. I don't think he even bothered to comb his messy, raven hair, but it still managed to fall perfectly across his eyes. He wore black dress robes with a green trim, which matched my dress handsomely.

After we finished getting ready, Harry and I Flooed to the Ministry of Magic, where we were able to take a Portkey to the gala. (We weren't sober enough to Apparate.)

The gala was being held at the home of Lady Carmilla Sanguina, which is in the middle of nowhere. For security purposes the mansion is the perfect location for thousands of wizards to convene because it is Unplottable and Muggles have never been able to penetrate its defenses. Plus, it is the biggest place I've ever seen, save Hogwarts Castle. The Ministry did consider using Hogwarts for the ball (they weren't too eager to be indebted to vampires, and the inhabitants of Sanguina Mansion are all vampires), but after last year's security fiasco at Hogwarts, the Ministry decided against using the school.

Besides, the grounds of Sanguina Mansion are much, much larger than Hogwarts's, which means thousands more wizards can gather in one place.

The knowledge that there would be thousands of people staring at his scar as soon as he arrived at the ball did nothing to calm Harry's nerves. As the guest of honor, he was required to walk down a red carpet before entering the mansion. I, as his date, had to do the same thing.

I was ready to puke all over my new dress, and/or jump around screaming in excitement as we landed on our feet. (Harry's entourage of Aurors were holding us up, otherwise we would probably both have collapsed from (a) having a shiteload of firewhisky in our system, or (b) the sudden chaos of thousands of witches and wizards screaming at us.

Or—at Harry.

But still. I was with him, so they were basically screaming at me too.

Whatever. It does matter _who_ they were screaming for, because it _was_ totally chaotic. Even if I had been able to speak, I wouldn't have been able to hear my own voice. The sound coming from the people around us was deafening.

The Aurors had created an invisible barrier surrounding the red carpet, but it was taking a lot of magic to keep it standing. People were pounding on it with fists and trying to break through with their own magic, and there were just so many of them that the Aurors guarding the barrier were continually being replaced so that they wouldn't collapse with exhaustion.

As Harry and I passed through the crowd, I saw many crying faces, and people reaching their hands out, trying to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was all over…

Before today, I had never truly appreciated how many lives Harry had saved by sacrificing himself. I glanced at him from the side, and as I took in his flushed cheeks and his downcast eyes, I realized that if anyone else had been placed in his position, the world would probably be burning right now. Because no one had his courage, his compassion. Of this, I was absolutely certain.

I stepped in closer to Harry as we walked forward. His hand tightened on mine.

I glanced behind me and realized that the crowd was closing in on us. We must have been the last to arrive for the red carpet, because the Aurors were collapsing the barrier behind us. In front of us, another prominent veteran of the war was disappearing into the Sanguina Mansion.

_Of course, _I realized. _The Ministry was saving Harry for last._

When Harry and I stepped into the Mansion, I was blown away. Every inch of the place was covered with decorations. The first thing that caught my eye, though, was the giant marble statue of Harry, which looked like the exact replica of the one that currently inhabits the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

The statue was of a seventeen-year-old Harry. The sword of Gryffindor dangled from his left hand, and in his right he held the Elder Wand. His robes looked tattered and as if they had been through a hard battle, but the statue still looked magnificent. His bangs had been swept to one side so that his lightening scar was easily visible.

Harry always tells me that this statue gives him more credit than he deserves, because Neville Longbottom was the one who cut off Nagini's head with Gryffindor's sword. Personally, I think Harry totally deserves it. After all, he _did_ withdraw the sword from the Sorting Hat, it was just years before Neville did. Plus, it gives the statue a nice touch.

Not that Harry _needs_ anything to make him better.

But still.

Following the war veteran in front of us (I vaguely remembered him from the times I spied on Order meetings), Harry and I walked through the entrance hall and into the great hall, where hundreds of wizards were already sitting.

Okay, here's the thing about the MOMGCDHWMNBNs. The Ministry never has enough space or resources to feed the thousands of witches and wizards that convene each year, so only the people who actually did some fighting in the war are invited to the actual dinner and dance. The rest of the world comes to watch Harry walk by and give his speech (which is always saved for last).

The minute we walked in, all the people in the room immediately stood up and raised their goblets to Harry, who was blushing furiously again. As we made our way to the Weasley table (which was considerably larger than anyone else's), witches and wizards lined up to shake Harry's hand. Some of them even wanted to shake mine!

I could see Draco Malfoy a few tables down, scowling darkly in Harry's direction. I was pretty sure I knew the reason for this. It was only a few months ago that Malfoy was begging me to date him. Ugh. Just thinking about it made me want to puke. The only reason the Malfoys ever even got on the guest list was because Mrs. Malfoy helped Harry escape Voldemort. But otherwise they might all be stuck in Azkaban right now.

It's a shame.

I mean, of course I'm glad that Harry isn't dead, but it wouldn't be so bad to have Malfoy out of my life once and for all.

As we approached the Weasley table, I could see my mother's face glowing with pride, so I was half sure that she had forgiven me for the whole Dress Robes Fiasco, but I didn't get too confident. You never know, with Mum.

When Harry and I sat down at the two open seats at our table, the rest of the room did as well, but everyone was still shamelessly staring at Harry. I squeezed his hand under the table, and he gave me forced smiled.

After Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, said a few words (he never once mentioned Harry personally, to Harry's relief), the plates magically filled themselves with food, like they do at Hogwarts, and everyone began to eat.

Between large bites of chicken, Ron told me and Harry, "You two looked weird as you walked in. Like you were about to fall over or something."

"Swallow your food before you speak, Ronald," Hermione reprimanded. "And with everyone staring at them, I would be surprised if they didn't feel nervous." However, she shot me a glance that told me that she knew all too well that nerves had nothing to do with the way I was walking. (Though I couldn't say the same for Harry.)

I nodded at her in thanks (the Silencing Charms were still in effect), and returned to my food, trying to avoid any more questions.

And then it happened.

You know what I'm talking about.

The Butter Dish Incident.

I had noticed The Butter Dish the moment I sat down, laying a hand's reach away to the right of me. I had vowed to never, ever touch a butter dish again, which is why I didn't move this particular butter dish away from me. Normally I would have asked someone else to do it, but seeing as I was Silenced, this was not an option. I figured if I stayed as far away from it as possible, everything would be fine.

How very wrong I was.

While I was very intently cutting a piece of steak, Harry nudged me on my side. I looked up at him.

_Yes?_

Okay, Harry and I have developed a cool way of speaking when we don't want other people to know what we're talking about. It's nothing like Legilimency, or anything, but we always _know_ what the other is thinking.

He looked pointedly at The Butter Dish, which I had been trying hard to ignore.

I think I could have died. I am able to put up with Harry's little faults, like always leaving the toilet seat up whenever he's at the Burrow, or smirking haughtily whenever he's right about something, or leaving a Snitch wandering around his flat twenty-four hours a day, and even his big temper, but _this?_

I glared at him. _You're a Butter Disher!_ I accused.

_What? _he thought-asked. _What the bleeding hell are you talking about? Whatever it is, I'm not it._

_Yes you are!_

_I'm not! Now pass me the butter dish, please._

_See, see?!_

_No, I don't see. Are you feeling all right, Ginny? _He placed his palm on my forehead. _You do feel a little hot. Maybe it was all the firewhisky—_

I swatted his hand away. _I'm feeling perfectly fine, thank you very much. It's _you_. You're a bloody Butter Disher. You use butter dishes!_

_Well, what do you want me to use? Mr. Norris's food dish?_

_I don't care—anything but a butter dish._

_Okay, fine, _Harry thought-said. _If you'll refuse to pass it to me, I'll just get it myself._

_NO! _

I grabbed his arm as he reached across me.

_You don't understand, Harry_, I told him. _Butter dishes are _evil_. If you even so much as look at it again I'll sick Mr. Norris on you._

Harry rolled his eyes. _You and I both know, Ginny, that Mr. Norris loves me more than you._

_Shite, _I thought (to myself). Because (a) now I knew that Harry knew that I knew that Mr. Norris loves him more, and (b) now I had nothing to threaten him with.

Which is why when Harry reached for The Butter Dish a second time, I leaped to my feet and tackled him.

Okay, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I've seriously gone mad now.

But I haven't. Honestly.

I mean—yes, it's always the crazies that go around screaming that they are actually quite sane, but this is different. I'm _not _crazy. If I hadn't pushed Harry away, who knows what would have happened if he'd actually _touched _The Butter Dish?

As it is, we are now laying on a pile of mashed potatoes and gravy, me on top of Harry, with the entire room staring at us in amazement.

I think Mum's going to have a heart failure.

Plus, this dress is now covered with food. Yeah, Mum is definitely going to murder me.

I utterly _loathe_ butter dishes.

Everyone is still in shock. Finally, Mum pulls a green bean out of her hair (everyone at our table is covered with food), and very slowly says, "_What_ do you think you're doing?"

Okay, this is a pretty stupid question. Obviously I'm lying on top of Harry Potter, on a table, in the middle of a room filled with hundreds of witches and wizards who have been doing nothing but stare at said Harry Potter the entire night.

Thankfully, the Silencing Charm is still in effect, preventing me from voicing my thoughts.

I feel a sense of déjà vu as I lay there on Harry, because the only things I can think are: _Ginny, don't you dare stick your hands into his robes _and_ Wow, Harry's _really_ well-built._

My mouth is beginning to water just thinking about him.

Or maybe it is because the delicious scent of hot gravy is wafting toward me from his hair.

But whatever. Harry is tastier than gravy, obviously.

Anyway.

Harry is having a little trouble breathing, I think. This could be because he is lying on a pile of food and everyone is staring at him, or because I may have just knocked the wind out of him.

But who's pointing fingers?

I feel myself being pulled off of Harry and placed on my feet. Everyone's attention turns to me. Harry is still on the table, stunned.

Pulling my wand out discreetly, I silently mutter the counter spell for the Silencing Charm. (Harry isn't the only one who learned nonverbal spells, so there!)

Thankfully, the hours I've gone without firewhisky have managed to sober me up a bit, so I am able to say a quick "Excuse me" and go searching for the bathroom.

I hold my head high as I walk through the room, but I can still feel a banana peel sliding down my face.

Plus, did I mention the photographers? Because there are a lot of them.

You know what that means. That's right—tomorrow the entire world will see my lovely face on the front page of the _Prophet_.

I can just see the title: _MAD GIRLFRIEND TACKLES HARRY POTTER._

God.

Bloody butter dishes. I _told_ you they are evil. This never would have happened if it wasn't for the BD.

I realize that I've reached the bathroom, so I push the door open and step inside.

The first thing that pops into my mind is "Bloody mother of God. Oh Merlin, not now—I don't want to leave Harry. Oh, he better not get together with Romilda Vane when I'm gone. Someone needs to feed Mr. Norris."

Because I think I'm going to die. In the literal sense.

Because there are two teenage vampires already occupying the loo. Are they really teenagers, though? I mean, they _look_ my age but vampires never get old, do they? Which means these two could be thousands of years old.

But why am I thinking about their age? I bet they're thinking about _eating _me.

Oh God.

I'm going to be eaten.

Oh Merlin.

I'd never expected to die like this. I figured I might die during the Second War, or maybe by some horrible Quidditch accident, or perhaps even when I'm really old and married to Harry and we have loads of grandchildren, but never like this. As food.

"Please don't eat me!" I can't help myself from shouting. "I'm not juicy enough!"

The two girls exchange looks. "We're not going to eat you," says the taller of the two.

"You're not?"

"No. I think your Ministry looks down on that kind of action."

Psh. I knew that.

I had my cool all along.

Yeah.

"Well…" I say. "I'll…just leave you…"

"But what about the food?" asks the second girl.

Oh my God. They _are_ going to eat me. Why would they care what the Ministry thinks? All they can think about is food.

I start to splutter. "Wha—I—you—but—huh?"

I'm going to be eaten!

"Aren't you going to clean up the food in your hair and on your robe?"

Oh, yeah. That.

"Uhm. I guess."

I can't get out of this, can I? I mean, if I try to run away they'll think I'm a weak target. So I slowly pull out the remaining dress robes from my purse and begin the process of cleaning away the food.

Suddenly, the tall vampire is at my side, holding the silver dress in front of her. "Wow, this is pretty. Ada, come look at these!"

Ada joins the tall vampire so quickly that it looked like she'd Apparated. She grabs the short, yellow dress from my pile. "This one is nice."

They both look at me. "Are you going to wear these?"

"Erm…no. You can have them if you want," I say. They're _vampires_. What am I supposed to do, say no? Mum can't blame me for this.

"Thanks a lot!" Ada says. She smiles brilliantly. Wow, those are pointy incisors. She pulls me into a tight hug.

The taller girl smiles as well. Her teeth are equally pointy. And I mean, really, dangerouly pointy.

Merlin.

"I'm Analilian, by the way. This is my sister, Adabella."

"Erm…Ginny Weasley."

They both gasp.

"I knew you looked familiar!" cries Adabella. "Ana, she's dating Harry Potter!"

"Erm…"

Honestly, I need to expand my vocabulary.

"Is he a good kisser?" Adabella asks.

"Ada!"

"What?" she says. "Don't pretend you don't want to know, Ana. I've seen you staring at his photographs in _Witch Weekly_."

Okay, this is officially getting weird.

"Look, I have to go," I say, slipping off the green dress and putting on the black one, the only one that's left. "My family is waiting for me."

"Okay," says Ana. "We'll see you around, yeah?"

"Of course." Not.

I plan to stay as far away from them as possible. They may not want to eat me now, but you never know.

I quickly exit the bathroom and make my way back to the great hall. It's completely deserted.

Where the bleeding hell is everybody?

Merlin's beard. I've suddenly just realized that I'm alone in a house full of vampires.

"Ginny! There you are!"

Thank Merlin. It's Hermione.

"Where have you been?"

"In the loo."

"Well, come on!" she cries. "Harry's about to give his speech."

Oh, no. Do I really have to listen? I mean, I have to be the supportive girlfriend and everything, but I have enough on my plate as it is.

However, Hermione leaves me no choice. She grabs my arm and pulls me out into a large balcony overlooking the courtyard, where thousands of people are gathered. The people from the dinner are all on the balcony, surrounding Harry, who looks ready to drop dead.

And he looks drop dead gorgeous too.

Harry shakes hands with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who takes out his wand, points it at Harry's throat, and mutters, "_Sonorus._"

Harry clears his throat. Everyone immediately stops talking. It's really eerie. There are thousands of people gathered in one place, and yet I could have heard a pin drop.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

At least he sounds like he's sobered up a little. Plus he sounds exceptionally sexy. As always. And he's all mine.

I can't help the grin that forms on my face. I stop smiling though, when I hear his next words.

"My name is Harry Potter. I mean—obviously you already know that. That is—I'm not saying that you _should_ know it. It's just…everyone pretty much knows who I am. But I don't expect you to know who I am—it's just, you know—you _do _know me. I mean—you don't _know_ me, know me—but you know my name…

"Anyway, good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Did I already say that? Is it even evening? Is it past midnight? Because that would mean that it's morning. And then I'd have to say 'Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.' But is 'ladies and gentlemen' enough? Because with all the people here, there's bound to be some who are transgender…"

Someone taps me from behind and I happily turn away. Harry's speech is worse than I imagined.

I come face to face with Analilian and Adabella, and another vampire woman. Oh, Merlin. Can this get any worse?

"Erm…hi!"

"Ginny, this is our Mum," Ada says. "Lady Carmilla Sanguina."

"Erm…hi!" My voice is unnaturally high-pitched.

Lady Carmilla smiles at me. "Ana and Ada have informed me about how kind you were to them today," she says.

"Erm…yeah."

I notice that the two vampire sisters are wearing the dress robes.

"It's no problem," I manage to squeak out.

"It's very unusual, though," Lady Carmilla says. "Humans usually want nothing to do with us."

Yeah. I can understand why.

"Well," I say instead, "that's me: unusual!"

"Well, I will of course repay you for the dresses."

She places a large bag of gold in my arms. I can tell by the weight that I would be able to buy ten dress robes with this small fortune if I wanted.

"This is too much…I can't…"

Yes, I can.

"You must."

Okay.

"But…"

"I insist."

"Well, okay. Thank you."

I mean, who would argue with a vampire? Exactly.

Lady Carmilla is gone in a flash, leaving me with Ada and Ana.

"Ginny," Ada says, "you've been great to us. If you ever need anything—and I mean _anything_—you can always call us."

"We heard you were having a little problem with a certain girl named Romilda Vane?" says Ana.

"How do you know?"

"It was all over _Witch Weekly_. Someone from Hogwarts sent in the story."

"So if you ever need us to…you know…give her a little fright…we'll be there for you," Ada says, smiling dangerously.

You know, I'm starting to like these two.

I smile as well. "I'll remember that."

I turn back and look at Harry, my spirits high. He however, looks completely flustered. I haven't heard the last parts of his speech, but on the looks on everyone's faces, it's been…bad.

But I can't help but smile when Harry breaks down and yells, "It was The Butter Dish!"

* * *

**AN: **Okay, are you satisfied, now? That was a random chapter, but it was only filler. I'm a bit in a hurry, so I haven't completely edited this, so please excuse any big mistakes. I have plans for the next chapter, but I thought it would be moving a little too fast if I didn't add something first. Please review, since it's really hot and I've been working with practically no AC to get this chapter out to you guys. ;)

Next chapter: Harry and Ginny need to have 'a talk.' Uh oh. (But I don't know how long it will take me to write, so if you need some H/G awesomeness, you'll find some great fics in my C2 archive.)


End file.
